THE 


TEMPERANCE  TALES 


BY 

LUCIUS  M.   SARGENT. 


Cum  vini  vis  penetram 

C'onsequuur  gravitas  membrorum,  praepediuntur 
Crura  vaccillanti,  tardescit  lingua,  madet  mens. 
Nant  oculi,  clamor,  singultus,  jurgia  gliscunt. 

LUCRETIUS,  Lib.  iii.  Ver.  476 


NEW   ILLUSTRATED    EDITION. 
TWO  VOLS.  IN  ONE. 


SPRINGFIELD,  MASS.  : 

W.  J.  HOLLAND    &    CO. 

1873. 


Entered  accc  rdimj  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  yeai  1347,  by 

WILLIAM    S.    DAMRELL, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


PUBLISHER'S    PREFACE 


IN  presenting  a  comprehensive  edition  of  the  "  Temper 
ance  Tales  "  to  the  public,  the  publisher  complies  with  the 
request  of  many  highly  respected  friends  of  the  temperance 
cause.  These  tales  were  prepared  for  the  purpose  of  doing 
good;  and  it  has  been  sufficiently  acknowledged,  that  they 
have  accomplished  their  object,  in  no  ordinary  degree.  Hun 
dreds  of  thousands  have  already  been  scattered  over  the 
earth.  Editions  have  been  published  in  England  and  Scot 
land,  and  several  of  these  tales  have  been  translated  into  the 
German  language.  Editions  have  also  been  printed  at 
Botany  Bay,  and  at  Madras,  in  South  India.  The  perusal  of 
some  one  of  these  narratives  is  well  known  to  have  turned 
the  hearts  of  many  persons  of  intemperate  habits,  from 
drunkenness  and  sloth,  to  temperance  and  industry.  Many 
ye-ars  have  passed  since  their  first  publication,  in  separate 
numbers.  It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  the  children  of 
parents,  once  intemperate,  to  cast  their  eyes  upon  those 
pages,  whose  influence,  under  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  has 
preserved  them  from  a  miserable  orphanage.  The  publisher 
confidently  hopes  that  the  circulation  of  the  Temperance 
Tales  will  greatly  tend,  as  it  ever  has  done,  to  the  advance 
ment  of  the  reformation. 

W.  S.  D. 


MY  MOTHEKS  GOLD  EING. 


Thit  IB  ths  first  of  a  series  of  storiei,  of  which  it  possibly  may  be  the  beginning  and  the  em*. 
The  incident,  which  is  the  foundation  of  the  following  tale,  was  communicated  to  the  writer,  by  • 
valued  fneivl,  as  a  fact,  with  the  name  of  the  principal  character.  Another  friend,  to  whom  the 
manuscript  was  given,  perceiving  some  advantage  in  its  publication,  has  thought  proper  to  give  it 
to  the  world,  as  Number  One  ;  from  which  I  infer,  that  I  am  expected  to  write  a  Number  Two.  Th« 
hint  may  be  worth  taking,  at  some  leisure  moment.  In  the  mean  time,  pray  read  Number  One  :  it 
can  do  you  no  harm  :  there  is  nothing  "  sectarian"  about  it.  When  you  have  read  it,  if,  among  all 
your  connections  and  friends,  you  can  think  of  none,  whom  its  perusal  may  possibly  benefit—  and  it 
will  be  strange  if  you  cannot  —  do  me  the  favor  to  present  it  to  the  first  little  boy  that  you  meet.  Ha 
will,  no  douot,  take  it  home  to  his  mother  or  his  father.  If  you  will  not  do  this,  throw  it  in  the 


street,  as  near  to  some  dram-seller's  door  as  you  ever  venture  to  go  :   let  it   take   the   course  of  the 
flying  seed,  which  God  is  pleased  to  intrust  to  the  keeping  of  th 
and  bear  fruit,  if  such  be  the  will  of  Him,  who  giveth  the  increase. 


I  HAVE  one  of  the  kindest  husbands :  he  is  a  carpenter  by  trade,  and 
our  flock  of  little  children  has  one  of  the  kindest  fathers  in  the 
county.  I  was  thought  the  luckiest  girl  in  the  parish,  when 
G T made  me  his  wife  :  I  thought  so  myself.  Our  wed 
ding-day  —  and  it  was  a  happy  one  —  was  but  an  indifferent  sample 
of  those  days  of  rational  happiness  and  uninterrupted  harmony, 
which  we  were  permitted  to  enjoy  together,  for  the  space  of  six 
years.  And  although,  for  the  last  three  years  of  our  lives,  we  have 
been  as  happy  as  we  were  at  the  beginning,  it  makes  my  heart  sick 
to  think  of  those  long,  dark  days  and  sad  nights,  that  came  between  ; 
for,  two  years  of  our  union  were  years  of  misery.  I  well  recollect 
the  first  glass  of  ardent  spirit,  that  my  husband  ever  drank.  He  had 
been  at  the  grocery  to  purchase  a  little  tea  and  sugar  for  the  family ; 
there  were  three  cents  coming  to  him  in  change ;  and,  unluckily, 
the  Deacon,  who  keeps  the  shop,  had  nothing  but  silver  in  the  till ; 
and,  as  it  was  a  sharp,  frosty  morning,  he  persuaded  my  good  man 
to  take  his  money's  worth  of  rum,  for  it  was  just  the  price  of  a  glass 
He  came  home  in  wonderful  spirits,  and  told  me  he  meant  to  have 
me  and  the  children  better  dressed,  and,  as  neigkbor  Barton  talked 
of  selling  his  horse  and  chaise,  he  thought  of  buying  them  both ; 
and,  when  I  said  to  him,  "  George,  we  are  dressed  as  well  as  we 
can  afford,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  think  of  a  horse  and  chaise,  till 
we  have  paid  off  the  Squire's  mortgage,"  he  gave  me  a  harsh  look 
and  a  bitter  word  I  never  shall  forget  that  day,  for  they  were  tho 
first  he  ever  gave  me  in  his  life.  When  he  saw  me  shedding  tears, 
and  holding  my  apron  to  my  face,  he  said  he  was  sorry,  and  came 

VOL.  1  1* 


6  MY  ft  OTHER'S  GOLD  RING. 

to  kiss  me,  and  T  discovered  that  he  had  been  drinking,  and  h 
grieved  me  to  the  heart.  In  a  short  time  after,  while  I  was  wash 
ing  up  the  breakfast  things,  I  heard  our  little  Robert,  who  was  only 
five  years  old,  crying  bitterly ;  and,  going  to  le?/n  the  cause,  I  met 
him  running  towards  me  with  his  face  covered  with  blood. 

He  said  his  father  had  taken  him  on  his  knee,  and  was  playing 
with  him,  but  had  given  him  a  blow  in  the  face,  only  because  he 
had  said,  when  he  kissed  him,  "  Dear  papa,  you  smell  like  old 
Isaac,  the  drunken  fiddler."  My  husband  was  very  cross  to  ua  all 
through  the  whole  of  that  day ;  but  the  next  morning,  though  lie 
said  little,  he  was  evidently  ashamed  and  humbled ;  and  he  w  enl 
about  his  work  very  industriously,  and  was  particularly  kind  to  little 
Robert.  I  prayed  constantly  for  my  good  man,  and  that  God  would 
be  pleased  to  guide  his  heart  aright ;  and,  more  than  a  week  baving 
gone  by,  without  any  similar  occurrence,  I  flattered  myself,  that  he 
would  never  do  so  again.  But,  in  a  very  little  time,  either  the 
Deacon  was  short  of  change,  as  before,  or  some  tempting  ocea&ion 
presented  itself,  which  my  husband  could  not  resist,  and  he  returned 
home  once  more  under  the  influence  of  liquor.  I  never  shall  forget 
the  expression  of  his  countenance,  when  he  came  in,  that  night.  We 
nad  waited  supper  a  full  hour,  for  his  return  :  the  tea-pot  was  stand 
ing  at  the  fire,  and  the  bannocks  were  untouched  upon  the  hearth, 
and  the  smaller  children  were  beginning  to  murmur  foi  their  supper. 
There  was  an  indescribable  expression  of  defiance  on  his  counte 
nance,  as  though  he  were  conscious  of  having  done  wrong,  and 
resolved  to  brave  it  out.  We  sat  down  silently  to  supper,  and  he 
scarcely  raised  his  eyes  upon  any  of  us,  during  this  unhappy  repast. 
He  soon  went  to  bed  and  fell  asleep  ;  and,  after  I  had  laid  our  little 
ones  to  rest,  I  knelt  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  on  which  my  poor  mis 
guided  husband  was  sleeping,  and  poured  out  my  very  soul  to  God, 
while  my  eyes  were  scalded  with  the  bitterest  tears  I  had  ever  shed. 
For  I  then  foresaw,  that,  unless  some  remedy  could  be  employed, 
my  best  earthly  friend,  the  father  of  my  little  children,  would 
become  a  drunkard.  The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  I  ventured 
to  speak  with  him  upon  the  subject,  in  a  mild  way ;  and,  though  I 
could  not  restrain  my  tears,  neither  my  words  nor  my  weeping 
appeared  to  have  any  effect,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  becoming  hard 
ened,  and  careless  of  us  all.  How  many  winter  nights  have  I 
waited,  wetping  alone,  at  my  once  happy  fireside,  listening  for  the 
lifting  latch,  and  wishing,  yet  dreading,  to  hear  his  steps  at  the  door  ; 

After  this  state  of  things  had  continued,  or  rather  grown  worse 
for  nearly  three  months,  I  put  on  my  bonnet  one  morning,  after  m) 
husband  had  gone  to  his  work,  and  went  to  the  Deacon's  store ;  and 


MY  MOTHER'S  GOLD  RINGL  7 

finding  him  alone,  I  stated  my  husband's  case,  and  begged  him  earn 
estiy  to  sell  him  no  more.  He  told  me  t  would  do  no  good,  for,  il 
he  did  not  sell  it,  some  other  person  would  sell  it ;  and  he  doubted  if 
my  husband  took  more  than  was  good  for  him.  He  quoted  Scrip 
ture  to  show,  that  it  was  a  wife's  duty  to  keep  at  home,  and  submit 
herself  to  her  husband,  and  not  meddle  with  things,  which  did  nok 
belong  to  her  province.  At  this  time,  two  or  three  customers  called 
for  rum,  and  the  Deacon  civilly  advised  me  to  go  home,  and  look 
after  my  children. 

I  went  out  with  a  heavy  heart.  It  seemed  as  if  the  tide  of  evil 
was  setting  against  me.  As  I  was  passing:  farmer  Johnson's,  on  my 
way  home,  they  called  me  in.  I  sat  down  and  rested  myself,  foi 
a  few  minutes,  in  their  neat  cottage.  Farmer  Johnson  was  just 
returning  from  the  field  ;  and  when  I  saw  the  little  ones  running  to 
meet  him  at  the  stile,  and  the  kind  looks,  that  passed  between  the 
good  man  and  his  wife  ;  and  when  I  remembered,  that  we  were  mar 
ried  on  the  very  same  day,  and  compared  my  own  fortune  with 
theirs,  my  poor  heart  burst  forth  in  a  flood  of  tears.  They  all  knew 
what  I  was  weeping  for,  and  farmer  Johnson,  in  a  kind  manner, 
bade  me  cheer  up,  and  put  my  trust  in  God's  mercy,  and  remember 
that  it  was  often  darkest  before  daylight.  The  farmer  and  his  wife 
were  members  of  the  temperance  society,  and  had  signed  the  pledge ; 
and  I  had  often  heard  him  say,  that  he  believed  it  had  saved  him 
from  destruction.  He  had,  before  his  marriage,  and  for  a  year  after, 
been  in  the  habit  of  taking  a  little  spirit  every  day.  He  was  ar 
industrious,  thriving  man  ;  but,  shortly  after  his  marriage,  he  became 
bound  for  a  neighbor,  who  ran  off,  and  he  was  obliged  to  pay  the 
debt.  I  have  heard  him  declare,  that,  when  the  sheriff  took  away 
all  his  property,  and  stripped  his  little  cottage,  and  scarcely  left  hiir 
those  tiifles,  which  are  secured  to  the  poor  man  by  law  ;  and  when 
he  considered  how  ill  his  poor  wife  was,  at  the  time,  in  consequence 
of  the  loss  of  their  child,  that  died  only  a  month  before,  he  wa? 
restrained  from  resorting  to  the  bottle,  in  his  moments  of  despair,  by 
nothing  but  a  recollection  of  the  pledge  he  had  signed.  Farmer 
Johnson's  minister  was  in  favor  of  pledges,  and  had  often  told  him, 
that  affliction  might  weaken  his  judgment  and  his  moral  sense,  and 
that  the  pledge  might  save  him  at  last,  as  a  plank  saves  the  life  of 
a  mariner,  who  is  tost  upon  the  waves. 

Our  good  Clergyman  was  unfortunately  of  a  different  opinion. 
He  had  often  disapproved  of  pledges  :  the  Deacon  was  of  the  same 
opinion  :  he  thought  very  illy  of  pledges. 

Month  after  month  passed  away,  and  our  happiness  was  utteily 
destroyed.  My  'msband  neglected  his  business,  and  poverty  began 


I 
&  MY  MOTHER'S  GOLD  RING. 

to  stare  us  in  th«  face.  Notwithstanding  my  best  exertions.,  it  wai 
hard  work  to  keep  my  little  ones  decently  clothed  and  sufficiently  fed. 
If  my  husband  earned  a  shilling,  the  dram-seller  was  as  sure  of  it, 
as  i/it  were  already  in  hid  till.  I  sometimes  thought  I  nad  lost  aii 
my  affection  for  one,  who  had  proved  so  entirely  regardless  of  tho?e, 
whom  it  was  his  duty  to  protect  and  sustain ;  but,  whei.  I  looked  in 
the  faces  of  our  little  children,  the  recollection  of  our  early  marriage 
days,  and  all  his  kind  words  and  deeds,  soon  taught  me  the  strength 
of  the  principle,  that  had  brought  us  together.  I  shall  never  cease 
10  remember  the  anguish  I  felt,  when  the  constable  took  him  to  jail, 
upon  the  dram-seller's  execution.  Till  that  moment,  I  did  not 
believe,  that  my  affection  could  have  survived,  under  the  pressure  of 
that  misery,  which  he  had  brought  upon  us  all.  I  put  up  such 
things,  of  the  little  that  remained  to  us,  as  I  thought  might  be  of  use, 
and  turned  my  back  upon  a  spot  where  I  had  been  very  happy  and 
very  wretched.  Our  five  little  children  followed,  weeping  bitterly. 
The  jail  was  situated  in  the  next  town.  "  Oh  George,"  said  I, 
"  if  you  had  only  signed  the  pledge,  it  would  not  have  come  to 
this."  He  sighed,  and  said  nothing ;  and  we  walked  nearly  a  mile, 
in  perfect  silence.  As  we  were  leaving  the  village,  we  encountered 
our  Clergyman,  going  forth  upon  his  morning  ride.  When  I  reflect 
ed,  that  a  few  words  from  him  would  have  induced  my  poor  husband 
to  sign  the  pledge,  and  that,  if  he  had  done  so,  he  might  have  been 
the  kind  father  and  the  affectionate  husband  that  he  once  was,  1 
own,  it  cost  me  some  considerable  effort  to  suppress  my  emotions. 
''Whither  are  you  all  going?"  said  the  holy  man.  My  husband, 
who  had  always  appeared  extremely  humble,  in  presence  of  the 
minister,  and  replied  to  all  his  inquiries,  in  a  subdued  tone  of  voice, 
answered,  with  unusual  firmness,  "  To  jail,  reverend  sir."  "To 
jail !"  said  he  ;  "  ah,  I  see  how  it  is;  you  have  wasted  your  sub 
stance  in  riotous  living,  and  are  going  to  pay  for  your  improvi 
dence  and  folly.  You  have  had  the  advantage  of  my  precept  and 
example,  and  you  have  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  one,  and  neglected 
the  other."  "  Reverend  sir,"  my  husband  replied,  galled  by  this 
reproof,  which  appeared  to  him,  at  that  particular  moment,  an  un 
necessary  aggravation  of  his  misery,  "  reverend  sir,  your  precept 
and  your  example  have  been  my  ruin  ;  I  have  followed  them  both. 
You,  who  had  no  experience  of  the  temptations,  to  which  your 
weaker  brethren  are  liable,  who  are  already  addicted  to  the  temper-  • 
ate  and  daily  use  of  ardent  spirits,  advised  me  never  to  sign  a  pledge 
I  have  followed  your  advice  to  the  letter.  You  admitted,  that  ex 
o-aordinary  occasion*  might  justify  the  use  of  ardent  spirit,  and  that, 
ea  Buck  occasions,  yo  i  might  use  it  yourself.  I  followed  your  ex 


MY  MOTHER'S  GOLD  RING.  9 

ample ;  but  it  has  been  my  misfortune  never  to  drink  spirituous 
liquors,  without  finding  that  my  occasion*  were  more  extraordinary 
than  ever.  Had  i  follow*"*  the  precept  %nd  example  of  my  neigh 
bor  Johnson,  I  should  no*  have  made  a  good  wife  miserable,  nor 
my  children  beggars."  While  he  uttered  these  last  words,  my  poor 
husband  looked  upon  his  little  ones,  and  burst  into  tears ;  and  the 
minister  rode  slowly  away,  without  uttering  a  word.  I  rejoiced, 
oven  in  the  midst  of  our  misery,  to  see  that  the  heart  of  my  pooi 
George  was  tenderly  affected ;  for  it  is  not  more  needful  that  the 
hardness  of  wax  should  be  subdued  by  fire,  than  that  the  hear  of 
man  should  be  softened  by  affliction,  before  a  deep  and  lasting  im 
pression  can  be  made.  "  Dear  husband,"  said  I,  "  we  are  young  , 
it  is  not  too  late;  let  us  trust  in  God.  and  all  may  yet  be  well." 
He  made  no  reply,  but  continued  to  walk  on,  and  weep  in  silence. 
Shortly  after,  the  Deacon  appeared,  at  some  distance,  coming  towards 
us  on  the  road ;  but,  as  soon  as  he  discovered  who  we  were,  he 
turned  away  into  a  private  path.  Even  the  constable  seemed  some 
what  touched  with  compassion  at  our  situation,  and  urged  us  to  keep 
up  a  good  heart,  for  he  thought  some  one  might  help  us,  when  we 
least  expected  it.  My  husband,  whose  vein  of  humor  would  often 
display  itself,  even  in  hours  of  sadness,  instantly  replied,  that  the 
good  Samaritan  could  not  be  far  off,  for  the  priest  and  the  Levite 
had  already  passed  by  on  the  other  side.  But  he  little  thought  - 
poor  man  —  that  even  the  conclusion  of  this  beautiful  parable  was  so 
likely  to  be  verified.  A  one-horse  wagon,  at  this  moment,  appeared 
to  be  coming  down  the  hill  behind  us,  at  an  unusually  rapid  rate, 
and  the  constable  advised  us,  as  the  road  was  narrow,  to  stand  aside, 
and  let  it  pass.  It  was  soon  up  with  us ;  and,  when  the  dust  had 
cleared  away,  it  turned  out,  as  little  Robert  had  said,  when  it  first 
appeared  on  the  top  of  the  hill,  to  be  farmer  Johnson's  gray  mare 
and  yellow  wagon.  The  kind-hearted  farmer  was  out  in  ao 
instant,  and,  without  saying  a  word,  was  putting  the  children  into 
it,  one  after  another.  A  word  from  farmer  Johnson  was  enough  for 
any  constable  in  the  village.  It  was  all  the  work  of  a  moment. 
He  shook  my  husband  by  the  hand ;  and  when  he  began,  "  Neigh 
bor  Johnson,  you  are  the  same  kind  friend  " — "  Get  in,"  said  he; 
"  let  's  have  no  words  about  it.  I  must  be  home  in  a  trice,  for,' 
turning  to  me,  "  your  old  school-mate,  Susan,  my  wife,  will  sit  a 
crying  at  the  window,  till  she  sees  you  all  safe  home  again."  Saying 
this,  he  whipped  up  the  gray  mare,  who,  regardless  of  the  additional 
load,  went  up  the  hill  faster  than  she  came  down,  as  though  she 
entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  whole  transaction. 

It  was  not  ,ong  before  we  reached  the  door  of  our  ctrttage.     Far 


10  MY  MOTHERS  GOLD  RING. 

mer  Johnson  took  out  the  children ;  and,  while  I  WAS  trying  to  find 
•vords  to  thank  him  for  all  his  kindness,  he  wts  up  in  his  wagon 
and  off,  before  I  could  utter  a  syllable.  Robert  screamed  after  him, 
to  tell  little  Tim  Johnson  to  come  over,  and  that  he  should  have  all 
his  pinks  and  marigolds.  When  we  entered  the  cottage,  there 
were  bread,  and  meat,  and  milk,  upon  the  table,  which  Susan,  the 
farmer's  wife,  had  brought  over  for  i^e  children.  I  could  not  help 
sobbing  aloud,  for  my  heart  was  full.  "  Dear  George,  '  said  I, 
turning  to  my  husband,  "  you  used  to  pray  ,  *°.t  us  thank  God,  for 
this  great  deliverance  from  evil."  "Dear  Jenny,"  said  he,  "1 
fear  God  will  scarcely  listen  to  my  poor  prayers,  after  all  my 
offences  ;  but  I  will  try."  We  closed  the  cottage  door,  and  nc  prayed 
with  so  much  humility  of  heart,  and  so  much  earnestness  of  feeling, 
that  I  felt  almost  sure  that  God's  grace  would  he  lighted  up,  in  the 
bosom  of  this  unhappy  man,  if  sighs,  and  tears,  and  prayers,  could 
win  their  way  to  heaven.  He  was  very  grave,  and  said  little  or 
nothing  that  night.  The  next  morning,  when  I  woke  up,  I  was  sur 
prised,  as  the  sun  had  not  risen,  to  find  that  he  had  already  gone 
down.  At  first,  I  felt  alarmed,  as  such  a  thing  had  become  unusual 
with  him,  of  late  years ;  but  my  anxious  feelings  were  agreeably 
relieved,  when  the  children  told  me  their  father  had  been  hoeing,  for 
an  hour,  in  the  potato  field,  and  was  mending  the  garden  fence. 
With  our  scanty  materials,  I  got  ready  the  best  breakfast  I  could, 
and  lie  sat  down  to  it,  with  a  good  appetite,  but  said  little ;  and, 
now  and  then,  I  saw  the  tears  starting  into  his  eyes.  I  had  many 
fears,  that  he  would  fall  back  into  his  former  habits,  whenever  he 
should  meet  his  old  companions,  or  stop  in  again  at  the  Deacon's 
store.  I  was  about  urging  him  to  move  into  another  village.  After 
breakfast,  he  took  me  aside,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  not  a  gold  ring. 
"  George,"  said  I,  "  that  ring  was  my  mother's  :  she  took  it  from 
her  finger,  and  gave  it  to  me,  the  day  that  she  died.  I  would  not 
part  with  that  ring,  unless  it  were  to  save  life.  Besides,  if  we  are 
industrious  and  honest,  we  shall  not  be  forsaken."  "  Dear  Jenny," 
said  he,  "  I  know  how  you  prize  that  gold  ring :  I  never  loved  you 
more  than  when  you  wept  over  it,  while  you  first  told  me  the  story 
of  your  mother  s  death  :  it  was  just  a  month  before  we  were  married, 
the  last  Sabbath  evening  in  May,  Jenny,  and  we  were  walking  by 
the  river.  I  wish  you  would  bring  me  that  ring."  Memory  hur 
ried  me  back,  in  an  instant,  to  the  scene,  the  bank  upon  the  river's 
side,  where  we  sat  together,  and  agreed  upon  our  wedding-day. 
I  brought  down  the  ring,  and  he  asked  me,  with  such  an  earnest 
ness  of  manner,  to  put  it  on  his  little  finger,  that  I  d  d  sc  ;  not, 
however,  without  a  trembling  hand  and  a  misgiving  heart.  **  And 


MY   MOTHER'S  GOLD  RING.  U 

now.  Jenny,"  said  he,  as  he  rose  to  go  out,  "  pray  that  God  will 
support  me."  My  mind  was  not  in  a  happy  state,  for  I  felt  some 
doubt  of  his  intentions.  From  a  little  hill,  at  the  back  of  our  cot 
tage,  we  had  a  fair  view  of  the  Deacon's  store.  I  went  up  to  the 
top  of  it;  and  while  I  watched  my  husband's  steps,  no  one  can  tell 
how  fervently  I  prayed  God  to  guide  them  aright.  I  saw  two  of  his 
old  companions,  standing  at  the  store  door,  with  glasses  in  their 
hands ;  and,  as  my  husband  came  in  front  of  the  shop,  I  saw  them 
beckon  him  in.  It  was  a  sad  moment  for  me.  "  Oh,  George," 
said  I,  though  I  knew  he  could  not  hear  me,  "  go  on;  remember 
your  poor  wife  ard  your  starving  childr3n  !"  My  heart  sunk  within 
me,  when  I  saw  him  stop  and  turn  t  jwards  t^e  door.  He  shook 
hands  with  his  old  associates :  they  appeared  to  offer  him  their 
glasses  :  I  saw  him  shake  his  head  and  pass  on.  "  Thank  God  !" 
said  I,  and  ran  down  the  hill,  with  a  light  step,  and  seizing  my  baby 
at  the  cottage  door,  I  literally  covered  it  with  kisses,  and  bathed  it 
in  tears  of  joy.  About  ten  o'clock,  Richard  Lane,  the  Squire's  office- 
boy,  brought  in  a  piece  of  meat  and  some  meal,  saying  my  husband 
sent  word,  that  he  could  not  be  home  till  night,  as  he  was  at  work 
on  the  Squire's  barn.  Richard  added,  that  the  Squire  had  engaged 
him  for  two  months.  He  came  home  early,  and  the  children  ran 
down  the  hill  to  meet  him.  He  was  grave,  but  cheerful.  "  I  have 
prayed  for  you,  dear  husband,"  said  1.  "  And  a  merciful  God  has 
supported  me,  Jenny,"  said  he.  It  is  not  easy  to  measure  the 
degrees  of  happiness ;  but,  take  it  altogether,  this,  I  think,  was  the 
happiest  evening  of  my  life.  If  there  is  great  joy  in  heaven  over  a 
sinner  that  repenteth,  there  is  no  less  joy  in  the  heart  of  a  faithful 
wife,  over  a  husband  that  was  lost,  and  is  found.  In  this  manner  the 
two  mouths  went  away.  In  addition  to  his  common  labor,  he  found 
time  to  cultivate  the  garden,  and  make  and  mend  a  variety  of  useful 
articles  about  the  house.  It  was  soon  understood,  that  my  husband 
had  reformed,  and  it  was  more  generally  believed,  because  he  was  a 
subject  for  the  gibes  and  sneers  of  a  large  number  of  the  Deacon's 
customers.  My  husband  used  to  say,  Let  those  laugh  that  are  wise 
and  win.  He  was  an  excellent  workman,  and  business  came  in 
from  all  quarters  He  was  soon  able  to  repay  neighbor  Johnson, 
and  our  families  lived  in  the  closest  friendship  with  each  other 
One  evening,  farmer  Johnson  said  to  my  husband,  that  he  thought 
jt  would  be  well  for  him  to  sign  the  tempei-nce  pledge ;  that  he  did 
not  advise  it,  when  he  first  began  to  leave  off  spirit,  for  he  feared 
his  strength  might  fail  him.  "  But  now,"  said  he,  "  you  have  con 
tinued  five  months,  without  touching  a  drop,  and  it  would  be  well 
for  the  cause,  that  you  should  sign  the  pledge."  "  Friend  John 


12  MY  MOTHER'S  GOLD  RING. 

BWJ,"  said  my  husband,  "  when  a  year  has  gone  safely  by,  I  will 
sign  the  pledge.  For  five  months,  instead  of  the  pledge,  I  have,  in 
every  trial  and  temptation  —  and  a  drinking  man  knows  well  the 
force  and  meaning  of  those  words  —  I  have  relied  upon  this  gold  ring, 
to  renew  my  strength,  and  remind  me  of  my  duty  to  God,  to  my 
wife,  to  my  children,  and  to  society.  Whenever  the  struggle  of 
appetite  has  commenced,  I  have  looked  upon  this  ring :  I  have  re 
membered  that  it  was  given,  with  the  last  words  and  dying  counsels 
of  an  excellent  mother,  to  my  wife,  who  placed  it  there  ;  and,  under 
the  blessing  of  Almighty  God,  it  has  proved,  thus  far,  the  life-boat 
of  a  drowning  man." 

The  year  soon  passed  away,  and  on  the  very  day  twelvemonth, 
on  which  I  had  put  the  ring  upon  my  husband's  finger,  farmer 
Johnson  brought  over  the  Temperance  book.  We  all  sat  down  to 
the  tea-table  together.  After  supper  was  done,  little  Robert  climbed 
up  and  kissed  his  father,  and,  turning  to  farmer  Johnson,  "  Father," 
said  he,  "has  not  smelt  like  old  Isaac,  the  drunken  fiddler,  once, 
since  we  rode  home  in  your  yellow  wagon."  The  farmer  opened 
the  book  :  my  husband  signed  the  pledge  of  the  society,  ard,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  gave  me  back — ten  thousand  times  mure  precious 
than  ever  —  MY  MOTHFR'T  HOLD  RING. 


WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  EOBIN, 


A  very  *>w  weeks  only  have  gone  by,  since  I  requested  you  to  read  Number  One.  It  is  prohabU 
Ihnt  you  have  complied  with  my  request ;  for  the  publishers  inform  me  they  are  already  at  work 
UKT.i  .he  ninth  edition,  and  have  been  requested,  by  the  friends  of  temperance,  in  the  State  of  New 
Y  >rk,  to  permit  them  to  strike  off  one  hundred  thousand  copies  for  gratuitous  distribution. 

I  have  been  cheered  by  ihe  assurance  of  some  highly  intelligent  and  benevolent  individuals,  that 
dumber  One  has  been  productive  of  good.  I  wr.ite  it  for  that  end,  and  sent  it  lonh  into  the  wend, 
with  a  i raver  to  that  effect.  I  thank  the  Giver  of  every  good  and  perfect  gift,  that  he  has  vouch* 
pafed  his  blessing  upon  these  humble  labors. 

I  now  respectfully  present  Number  Two  for  your  perusal.  It  has  been  objected  to  Number  One, 
that  the  language  in  which  it  is  written  is  above  the  level  of  certain  capacities  ;  and  that  farmer 


..Mdren,  and  profit  by  that  instruction  which  these  tales  are  designed  to  supply. 

We  are  apt  to  over  graduate  the  change,  between  our  present  seasons  and  the  corresponding 
teasons  of  our  youth,  forgettms  that  Thomson's  description  of  an  English  spring,  by  which  so  many 
of  us  h*ve  been  fairly  transported,  in  our  childhood,  over  the  sea,  is,  after  all,  the  genuine  spring 
which  lives  in  pur  early  recollections.  It  appears  to  me,  that  we  have  been  occasionally  misled,  in  a 
somewhat  similar  manner,  in  the  preparation  ol  books  designed  for  certain  classes  of  our  fellow- 
countrymen.  Under  a  monarchy,  it  is  of  importance  to  keep  up  the  Chinese  teall  of  distinction 
between  the  rich  and  the  poor.  When  a  simple  commoner,  by  his  prodigious  wealth,  or  colossal 
intellectual  power,  distinguishes  himself,  he  is  taken  over  the  wall,  and  transformed  into  a  lord, 
lest  he  should  furnish  an  inconvenient  exception  to  the  general  rule.  Knowledge  and  ignorance, 
refinement  and  vulgarity,  under  such  a  form  of  government,  are  placed  and  retained  in  the  most 
•triking  contradistinction  to  each  other.  Societies  for  the  diffusion  of  useful  knowledge  are  grad 
ually  demolishing  the  barrier.  Until  very  lately,  however,  a  convention  of  all  the  American 
children,  of  seven  years  old,  would  hare  rejected,  by  an  overwhelming  vote,  as  beneath  their  capac 
ity,  a  very  large  proportion  of  all  the  little  volumes  prepared  for  ihe  mechanics  and  peasantry  of 
England.  It  is  not  easy  to  perceive,  even  in  works  designed  for  children  alone,  the  utility  of  bro 
ken  English  ;  nor  of  a  mean  and  meagre  phraseology  in  those  intended  for  the  majority  of  the  people. 
There  are  many  sensible  remarks,  having  a  bearing  on  this  subject,  in  Pope's  ironical  examination 
of  the  comparative  merits  of  the  pastorals  of  Phillips  and  his  own.  To  be  sure,  it  would  not  be 
expedient  to  make  a  farmer  talk  like  a  metaphysician,  nor  a  rough  child  of  the  ocean  like  an  accom 
plished  divine. 

I  cannot  believe  that  a  hard  word,  occurring  once,  or  eren  twice,  in  a  little  work  of  this  kind,  u 
likely  to  be  productive  of  harm.  No  human  creature  understands  the  pleasure  of  overcoming  the 
difficulties,  which  lie  in  his  path,  more  thoroughly  than  a  New  England  fanner;  and,  even  if  a  hard 
word  should  lie  across  the  furrow,  he  will  not  only  be  enabled  to  turn  it  out,  with  the  assistance  of 
Noah  Webster's  patent  plough,  but  he  will  be  the  better  pleased  with  the  fruit  of  hi*  toil,  for  th« 
labor  it  may  cost  him. 


RICHARD  WILD  and  ROBERT  LITTLE  were  born  on  two  pleasantly 
situated  homesteads,  that  bounded  on  each  other.  Their  parents, 
though  differing  essentially  in  their  habits  of  life,  were  good  neigh 
bors.  There  were  but  a  few  weeks'  difference  between  the  agea 
of  these  children,  and  they  grew  up  from  their  cradles  with  th« 
strongest  attachment  for  each  other.  I  have  seen  Robert,  a  hundred 
times,  in  the  fine  mornings  and  evenings  of  summer,  sitting  on  a 
particular  rock,  at  the  bottom  of  his  father's  garden,  with  his  dipper 
of  bread  and  milk ;  not  tasting  a  mouthful  till  Richard  came  and  sat 
down,  with  his  dipper,  at  his  side.  They  teetered  together  on  a 
board,  placed  over  the  boundary  wall.  As  they  grew  a  little  older, 
they  snared  blue  jays  and  trapped  striped  squirrels  in  company ;  and 
all  their  toys  and  fishing  tackle  were  common  property. 

V0L.  I.  2 


i4  WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN. 

I  have  often  thought  there  was  something  in  the  name  which  a 
boy  acquires  at  school.  Richard  Wild,  and  Robert  Little,  who  waa 
smaller  of  statire,  were  called,  by  their  school-fellows,  wild  Dick 
and  good  little  Robin.  Robert  Little  was  truly  a  good  boy,  and  he 
was  blessed  with  worthy  parents,  who  brought  him  up  in  the  fear 
of  God,  and  who  not  only  taught  him  the  principles  of  piety  and 
virtue,  but  led  him  along  in  those  pleasant  paths,  by  their  own  con 
tinual  example  in  life  and  practice.  Richard  Wild  was  not  so  for 
tunate.  His  father  and  mother  paid  less  respect  to  the  Sabbath  day  ; 
and,  although,  as  I  have  said,  the  parents  of  both  these  children  were 
good  neighbors,  and  exchanged  a  variety  of  kind  offices  with  each 
other,  in  the  course  of  a  long  year ;  yet  there  were  some  subjects 
upon  which  they  very  frequently  conversed,  and  never  agreed.  The 
most  interesting  of  all  these  topics  of  discussion  was  the  temperance 
reform.  Farmer  Little  was  a  member  of  the  society,  and,  in  his 
plain,  sensible  way,  by  his  own  excellent  example,  not  more  than  by 
his  counsel,  within  the  circle  of  his  little  neighborhood,  one  of  its 
valuable  advocates.  Farmer  Wild  was  opposed  to  it,  in  preaching 
and  in  practice.  He  was  opposed  to  it  chiefly  because  it  was  "  a 
sectarian  thing."  He  preached  against  it  on  all  occasions,  at  the 
mill  and  the  smithy,  the  town-hall  and  the  grocery-store ;  but  he 
was  particularly  eloquent  upon  training  days,  when  the  pail  of  punch 
was  nearly  drunk  out ;  for  he  was  not  one  of  those  who  preach  and 
never  practise.  At  that  time,  he  was  not  esteemed  an  intemperate 
man.  To  be  sure,  he  was  frequently  in  the  habit  of  taking  enough 
to  make  his  tongue  run  faster  than  usual,  and  to  light  up,  in  his 
heart,  a  feeling  of  universal  philanthropy ;  which  invariably  sub 
sided  after  a  good  night's  rest.  Farmer  Wild's  wife  derived  a  great 
deal  of  comfort  from  a  cheering  glass.  It  was  particularly  grateful 
on  washing  days ;  and  she  soon  became  convinced  that  it  tasted 
quite  as  well  on  any  other  day  of  the  week.  There  was  a  time 
when  she  was  unwilling  that  her  neighbors  should  become  ac 
quainted  with  this  disposition  for  liquor.  SI  e  was  then  in  the  habit 
of  indulging  herself  in  the  frequent  use  of  tea,  at  all  hours  of  the 
day.  She  kept  it,  in  constant  readiness,  on  the  upper  shelf  of  the 
pantry  closet.  Upon  a  certain  day,  little  Dick  was  taken  so  sudden- 
y  and  seriously  ill,  that  his  father  went  for  Dr.  Diver.  The  child 
ivas  unable  to  stand,  and  was  so  drowsy  ahd  sick  at  his  stomach 
that  the  family  were  fearful  he  had  been  poisoned  ;  and  the  more  so, 
as  he  had  been  seen,  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  day,  playing  before  the 
apothecary's  shop.  Dr.  Diver  had  recently  procured  a  stomach- 
pump  ;  and,  as  he  waa  quite  willing  to  try  it,  the  experiment  was 
immediately  and  successfully  made  upon  the  stomach  of  little  Dick, 


WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN.  15 

who  was  spoedily  relieved  of  rather  more  than  half  a  pint  of  strong 
milk  punch.  He  stoutly  denied,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he  had 
ever  tasted  a  drop  of  any  such  thing ;  but  finally  confessed  that  ha 
had  been  sucking  tea,  as  he  had  often  seen  his  mother  do,  from  the 
nose  of  her  teapot,  upon  the  upper  shelf.  Farmer  Wild,  in  spite 
of  his  wife's  remonstrances,  took  down  the  teapot,  and  examined 
its  contents,  when  the  whole  matter  was  easily  unravelled.  The 
farmer  scolded  his  wife  for  her  habit  of  drinking  punch  in  the  morn 
ing  ;  and  she  scolded  her  husband  for  his  habit  of  drinking  rum  at 
all  hours  of  the  day.  The  presence  of  Dr.  Diver  appeared  to  have 
little  influence  in  abating  the  violence,  or  softening  the  acrimony, 
of  the  family  quarrel ;  and  little  Dick  was  quite  willing  to  be  spared, 
by  both  parents,  though  at  the  expense  of  a  broil  between  them 
selves.  As  soon  as  Dr.  Diver  had  carefully  wiped  and  put  up  his 
stomach-pump,  he  took  his  leave,  cautioning  little  Dick  to  avoid 
taking  his  tea  so  strong  for  the  future.  The  doctor  was  not  only  a 
skilful  physician  but  a  prudent  man.  It  is  fortunate  for  the  peace 
of  every  village  in  the  land  that  doctors  are  generally  aware  that 
the  acquisition  of  extensive  practice  depends,  in  no  small  degree, 
upon  their  ability  to  hear,  see,  and  say  nothing.  A  village  doctor 
is  the  depository  of  a  great  many  contrary  stories,  which,  like  the 
contrary  winds  contained  in  the  bag  presented  by  ^Eolus  to  Ulys 
ses,  would  operate  sadly  to  his  disadvantage,  if  he  should  suffer 
them  to  get  loose.  The  bosom  of  a  physician  should  resemble 
the  old  lion's  den  in  the  fable,  into  which  many  strange  things  were 
seen  to  enter,  but  from  whence  none  ever  returned. 

It  need  not  be  stated,  that  farmer  Wild  and  his  wife  were  getting 
into  a  bad  way,  and  that  Richard  was  not  likely  to  be  benefited  by 
the  example  of  his  parents.  Pride  will  frequently  operate  when  all 
higher  and  holier  motive  will  not.  Vicious  inclinations  are  often 
restrained,  in  the  presence  of  those  whom  we  fancy  ignorant  of 
our  besetting  sins.  Thus  it  was  with  farmer  Wild  and  his  wife. 
The  domestic  explosion,  produced  by  the  affair  of  the  teapot,  had 
completely  broken  the  ice,  as  it  were ;  and,  from  that  moment,  nei 
ther  the  husband  nor  the  wife  adopted  any  private  courses  for  the 
gratification  of  their  appetite  for  liquor.  The  farmer  used  gin,  and 
rum  was  the  favorite  beverage  of  his  wife.  Their  respective  jugs 
were  regularly  carried  by  little  Dick,  and  brought  home  filled,  from 
the  grog-shop.  Dicky  always  calculated  on  the  sugar  at  the  bottom 
of  his  father's  glass  ;  and  his  mother  never  failed  to  reward  him  with 
a  taste  of  her  own,  if  he  went  and  came  quick  with  the  jug.  Rich 
ard,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  evil  consequences  of  drinking  spirit, 
saving  from  his  experience  with  the  stomach-pump,  had  offered. 


16  WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN. 

more  than  once,  a  portion  of  that,  which  he  had  received  from  his 
parents,  to  Robert  Little,  who  always  refused  it,  and  told  Richard 
that  it  was  wrong  to  drink  it.  But  Richara  replied,  that  his  father 
and  mother  drank  it  every  day,  and  therefore  it  could  not  oe  wrong. 
"  Besides,"  said  he,  "  father  and  mother  are  always  so  good-natured 
and  funny  when  they  drink  it ;  and,  after  a  while,  they  get  cross  and 
scold,  and,  when  they  drink  it  again,  they  fall  asleep,  and  it  's  all 
uver."  Robert,  as  good  little  boys  are  apt  to  do,  told  his  father  and 
mother  all  that  Richard  had  said  to  him.  Mr.  Little  had  observe,  d 
for  some  time,  that  farmer  Wild  was  neglecting  his  farm,  and  get 
ting  behind-hand ;  and,  after  talking  the  matter  over  with  his  own 
good  wife,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  his  duty  to  seek 
a  fair  opportunity,  and  have  a  friendly  and  earnest  conversation  with 
his  old  neighbor,  on  the  fatal  tendency  of  his  habits  of  life.  "  I  shall 
have  relieved  my  mind  and  done  my  duty  to  an  old  friend,"  said  he, 
"  if  my  efforts  should  produce  no  good."  He  availed  himself,  ac 
cordingly,  of  the  first  fair  occasion  which  presented  itself,  on  the 
following  Sabbath,  after  meeting.  His  counsel  was  of  no  avail ; 
and  he  was  grieved  to  find,  by  an  increased  violence  of  manner,  and 
an  apparent  regardlessness  of  public  opinion,  that  his  poor  neigh 
bor  Wild  was  further  gone  than  he  had  supposed.  His  irritability 
of  temper  had  sadly  increased,  and  Mr.  Little  was  shocked  to  find 
that  he  could  not  converse  on  the  subject  without  using  profane  and 
violent  language.  The  next  morning  he  sent  in  a  few  shillings, 
which  he  owed  Mr.  Little,  with  a  short  message  by  Richard,  that 
he  believed  they  were  now  even.  Robert  came  in,  shortly  after, 
weeping  bitterly,  and  saying  that  Richard's  father  had  forbidden 
their  playing  or  even  speaking  together  any  more,  and  had  threat 
ened  to  flog  Richard  soundly,  if  he  dared  to  disobey.  However 
painful  to  Robert,  Mr.  Little  did  not  consider  this  prohibition  so 
great  an  evil.  Richard  Wild,  though  of  a  very  affectionate  temper, 
under  the  influence  of  his  father  and  mother  was  becoming  a  bad 
boy.  He  was  not  over  nine  years  of  age,  and  had  already  acquired 
the  name  of  the  little  tippler ;  and  had  been  suspected,  upon  more 
than  one  occasion,  of  being  light-fingered.  Farmer  Little's  wife, 
however,  could  never  speak  of  those  early  days,  when  Richard  used 
to  bring  his  dipper  of  milk,  and  sit  upon  the  rock  with  Robert,  at  tho 
bottom  of  the  garden,  without  putting  her  apron  to  her  eyes.  Rob 
ert  uould  often  look  wistfully  at  Richard,  as  he  passed,  and  nod  to 
him  through  the  window ;  and  Richard  would  return  it  in  the  same 
manner,  after  he  had  satisfied  himself  that  neither  his  father  nor 
mother  was  observing  him.  Dick,  with  all  his  failings,  was  a  gener 
ous  boy.  A  portion  of  his  apples  and  nuts  was  frequently  seen,  in 


WILD  1/ICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN.  17 

the  morning,  under  Robert's  window,  where  he  had  placed  their 
over  night,  not  daring  to  venture  ovei  in  the  day-time.  Neverthe 
less,  \>B  was  becoming  daily  an  object  of  increasing  dislike  through 
the  whole  village.  Although  there  were  some  who  pitied  the  poor 
boy,  and  thought  his  parents  much  more  to  blame,  through  whose 
example  he  had  undoubtedly  acquired  that  ruinous  relish  for  ardent 
spirit ;  yet  the  villagers  generally  considered  the  whole  family  as  a 
nuisance,  and  likely,  before  long,  to  come  upon  the  town.  Squire 
Hawk,  the  chairman  of  the  selectmen,  who  kept  the  grog-shop  in 
front  of  the  meeting-house,  concluding  that  farmer  Wild  was  com 
pletely  down  at  heel,  and  had  no  more  money,  refused  to  let  him 
have  any  more  liquor  at  his  store,  and  proposed  to  post  him  as  a 
common  drunkard.  But  Deacon  Squeak,  who  kept  the  dram-shop 
at  the  corner  of  the  road  that  leads  to  the  grave-yard,  knew  some 
thing  more  of  poor  Wild's  affairs,  and  observed,  that  it  would  be 
hard  to  do  so,  on  account  of  his  family  ;  he  knew,  from  his  own  ex 
perience,  that  a  little  liquor  was,  now  and  then,  a  help  to  any  man. 
It  was  soon  known  over  the  village,  that  farmer  Wild  had  conveyed 
\he  last  remnant  of  his  little  property,  a  small  piece  of  meadow  land, 
to  Deacon  Squeak,  to  be  paid  for  in  groceries,  at  his  store.  Poor 
Wild,  with  the  assistance  of  his  wife  and  little  Dick,  soon  drank  out 
the  meadow  land.  The  Deacon  himself  was  then  perfectly  satis 
fied  that  it  was  a  gone  case.  Richard  Wild,  and  Temperance 
Wild,  his  wife,  were  forthwith  posted  as  common  drunkards ;  and 
all  persons  "  of  sober  lives  and  conversations,"  who  sold  rum  in  the 
village  of  Tippletown,  were  lorbidden  to  furnish  them  with  ardent 
spirits  any  longer.  The  means  of  subsistence  were  novv  entirely 
gone,  and  their  removal  to  thj  workhiouse  was  a  matter  of  course. 
It  was  haying  time,  and  little  Dick  was  permitted  to  earn  his  victuals 
by  helping  the  hay-makers.  They  soon  detected  him  in  getting 
behind  the  hay-cocks,  and  drinking  the  rum  from  their  jugs ;  and 
accordingly  little  Dick  got  a  sound  thrashing,  and  was  driven  out  of 
the  field ;  for  these  hay-makers  were  so  far  inclined  to  promote  the 
cause  of  temperance,  that  they  would  not  permit  any  persons,  but 
themselves,  to  drink  up  their  rum. 

Poor  Dick !  he  cut  a  wretched  figure,  as  he  went  whimpering 
along  the  road,  rubbing  his  red  eyes  upon  his  ragged  sleeve.  He 
spent  that  day  in  strolling  about  farmer  Little's  woodland  and  or 
chard,  in  the  hope  of  meeting  Robert.  But  he  was  unsuccessful ; 
and,  at  night,  he  went,  crying  and  supperless,  to  bed,  in  the  far 
mer's  barr.  He  slid  down  from  the  hay-mow,  before  daylight,  and 
resolved  to  quit  a  place,  where  he  had  neither  father,  nor  mother, 
uor  friend,  to  whom  he  could  look  for  protection  and  support.  The 

VOL    1.  2* 


J8  WILD  DICK  ANL    GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN. 

day  was  just  dawning,  as  he  came  out  of  the  barn :  his  path  lay 
close  to  the  cottage  of  farmer  Little  ;  he  laid  a  small  parcel  on  the 
door-stone,  and  passed  rapidly  on.  The  parcel  was  found  there,  bji 
the  first  person  who  came  out  in  the  morning ;  it  was  a  top.  which 
Robert  had  lent  him  a  great  while  before.  It  was  wrapped  up  in  a 
piece  of  paper,  on  the  corner  of  which  was  vritten,  "  Good-by, 
Robert.''1  Before  he  quitted  the  village,  Dick  turned  aside  for  a 
moment,  to  give  a  last  look  at  his  father's  cottage.  It  was  unten- 
anted,  and  the  person  into  whose  hands  it  had  fa,'en  had  barred  up 
the  doors  and  windows,  so  that  Dick  could  not  get  in  ;  but,  through 
a  broken  pane,  he  looked  into  the  vacant  room,  where  he  had  passed 
so  much  of  his  short  life.  He  looked  over  the  wall  of  the  little 
garden,  now  filled  with  weeds.  As  he  was  turning  away,  he  felt 
something  move  against  his  leg,  and,  looking  down,  he  saw  the  old 
cat,  that  still  clung  to  her  accustomed  haunts.  She  purred  to  and 
fro  at  his  feet,  and  looked  up  in  his  face.  Poor  Dick  was  certain 
she  knew  him,  and  he  burst  into  tears.  She  followed  him  a  little 
way  up  the  lane,  and  then  returned  slowly  to  the  cottage. 

"  It  was  a  bonny  day  in  June,"  as  the  poet  says,  but  the  darkest 
in  the  short  pilgrimage  of  little  Dick.  The  birds  sang  delight 
fully,  as^  if  to  mock  the  poor  fellow's  misery;  and  the  copious 
showers  of  the  night  had  varnished  every  leaf  in  the  wood.  The 
sun  had  scarcely  arisen,  and  the  villagers  of  Tippletown  had  not  yet 
bethought  themselves  of  their  morning  drams,  before  little  Dick  had 
fairly  cleared  the  boundary  line;  and,  upon  a  rock,  on  the  eminence 
which  overlooks  the  village,  he  sat  down  to  look  back  upon  it,  to 
take  a  little  rest,  and  to  cry  it  out.  To  be  sure,  he  had  walked  only 
four  miles,  but  he  had  slept  little,  and  eaten  nothing,  for  many 
hours ;  and  he  fairly  cried  himself  to  sleep.  He  had  slept  nearly  an 
hour,  when  he  was  awakened  by  a  shake  of  the  shoulder.  He 
awoke  in  no  little  alarm,  but  became  more  composed,  upon  seeing 
before  him  a  stranger  in  a  sailor's  dress,  with  a  good-natured  face, 
and  a  pack  upon  his  shoulders.  "A  hard  hammock,  my  lad,"  said 
he,  "if  you  have  been  turning  in  here  for  the  night."  Dick  told 
him  his  whole  story,  and  concluded  by  saying  that  he  had  eaten 
nothing,  for  many  hours.  "  Now,  my  lad,"  said  the  sailor,  "  you 
should  have  told  me  this  first;"  and,  overhauling  his  pack,  he  pulled 
out  plenty  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  bade  Dick  help  himself,  which 
he  did,  without  being  pressed  a  second  time.  When  he  had  finished, 
'  Look  ye  here,"  said  the  man  of  the  sea.  "  If  you  have  been  lying 
to  me,  you  have  done  it  with  an  honest-looking  face ;  but,  if,  as  you 
say,  your  father  and  mother  have  got  into  work-house  dock,  and 
there 's  nobody  to  give  ye  a  lift,  what  say  ye  to  a  sailor's  life,  eh? 


WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN.  19 

[  've  beep  home  to  see  my  old  mother,  some  fifty  miles  back  and  to 
leave  her  something  to  keep  her  along ;  and  I  'm  now  getting  down 
again,  for  another  cruise.  Now,  if  you  like  it,  I  '11  take  ye  under 
convoy  You  're  no  bigger  than  a  marlin-spike,  to  be  sure,  but  the 
best  tars  begin  when  they  are  boys.  Well,"  continued  he,  strap 
ping  on  his  pack,  and  taking  up  his  hickory  stick,  "what  say  you, 
my  lad,  yes  or  no?"  Dick  accepted  the  proposal,  and  away  they 
trudged ;  the  sailor  relating,  by  the  way,  a  hundred  tales  calculated 
to  stir  the  landsman's  heart. 

Let  us  cast  back  a  look  upon  Tippletown.  On  the  day,  when  the 
top  and  the  farewell  message  were  found  upon  farmer  Little's  door- 
stone,  Robert  was  sent  home  sick  from  school,  with  a  message  from 
the  schoolma'am,  that  he  had  cried  the  whole  morning.  Even  far 
mer  Little  and  his  wife  were  deeply  affected  at  the  little  incident. 
Day  passed  after  day,  and  it  was  commonly  believed  that  Dick  had 
run  off.  In  about  six  months  his  father  died  of  the  dropsy,  and  his 
mother  soon  followed,  of  consumption ;  and  both  were  buried  from 
the  workhouse  in  the  drunkard's  grave. 

A  year  had  gone  by,  and  nothing  had  been  heard  of  Dick.  In  the 
month  of  June,  a  mariner  stopped  to  rest,  at  the  tavern  in  Tipple- 
town,  on  his  way  to  visit  his  relations,  in  another  state.  He 
inquired  if  a  family,  by  the  name  of  Wild,  lived  in  that  village,  and 
was  informed  that  the  parents  had  died  in  the  workhouse,  and  the 
son  was  supposed  to  have  run  off.  He  then  related  his  adventure 
with  little  Dick,  for  this  was  the  very  sailor  who  took  him  to  sea. 
"  A  smart  little  fellow  he  was,"  said  he,  "  and  if  he  had  lived,  there 
would  not  have  been  his  better,  in  good  time,  to  hand,  reef,  and  steer, 
aboard  any  ship  that  swims.  He  was  but  eleven,  and  as  smart  as  a 
steel  trap."  "Pray,  sir,"  said  the  landlady,  laying  down  her  knit 
ting,  and  taking  off  her  glasses,  "was  Richard  Wild  lost  at  sea?" 
"Ay,  ay,  good  wife,"  said  the  mariner,  dashing  the  tear  from  his 
eye,  with  a  hand  as  big  and  as  brown  as  a  leg  of  mutton  half  roasted ; 
"lost  at  sea,  off  Cape  Hatteras,  in  a  gale  that  made  the  old  ship 
crack  again,  and  with  the  sky  as  black  as  midnight  without  moon. 
A  sea,  and  a  horrible  sea  it  was,  struck  us  on  the  quarter,  and  took 
the  poor  lad  with  it,  together  with  Bob  Gleason,  the  second  mate 
Bub,  poor  fellow,  cried  out  lustily,  and  his  shout,  as  he  went  over, 
was  louder  than  the  storm;  but  the  cries  of  little  Dick  sunk  ;jitn  the 
hearts  of  the  whole  crew  The  old  boatswain,  who  had  a  line  voice 
and  was  the  life  of  the  ship's  company,  refused  to  sing  another  son» 
till  we  got  into  port."  "And  why,  in  the  name  of  patience,"  cried 
the  old  landlady,  whose  spectacles  had  fallen,  in  her  excitement, 
into  the  spider,  where  she  was  cooking  the  sailor's  breakfast,  "  why 


30  WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBI* 

didn't  you  stop  your  vessel  and  take  'em  in  * "  "  Stop  the  whirlwind 
goody!''  replied  the  man  01  the  sea,  in  a  \oice  in  which  grief  and 
anger  were  equally  apparent;  "you  might  as  well  :tsk  your  land 
lubber  of  a  militia  captain,  strutting  out  yonder  on  the  common,  to 
countermarch  a  West  India  hurricane.  Stop  the  old  ship !  Why,  1 
tell  ye,  old  woman,"  raising  his  voice  to  the  pitch  of  an  angry  bull, 
"  I  tell  ye  we  were  scudding,  with  a  rag  of  a  storm  foresail,  at  the 
rate  of  thirteen  knots  an  hour.  Stop  her  with  a  vengeance !  Why, 
the  old  dragon  of  a  ship  was  flying  through  the  sea  like  a  crazy 
shark.  I  could  have  jumped  over  after  the  poor  boy,  with  a  lighter 
heart  than  I  can  tell  you  the  story ;  but  I  was  at  the  wheel,  goody, 
and,  if  I  had  let  go,  for  an  instant,  we  should  have  broached  to, 
and  then  you  would  never  have  had  the  story  from  me.  I  bawled 
out  loud  enough :  they  heard  me,  I  '11  warrant  ye ;  three  hen-coops 
were  torn  from  their  lashings  and  thrown  overboard,  sooner  than  you 
can  say  Jack  Robinson."  "Well,  well,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"I  would  have  left  my  wheel  any  time,  to  save  the  life  of  the  poor 
child."  The  sailor  rose,  and  strapped  on  his  pack,  and  took  up  his 
old  stick.  "Stop,  sir,"  said  the  old  woman;  "your  eggs  are  just 
done ;  I  meant  no  offence  by  what  I  said ;  your  breakfast  will  be  on 
the  table  directly."  "  Not  at  all,  goody,"  said  he,  as  he  threw  down 
a  five-franc  piece  on  the  table;  "no  offence,  but  my  stomach  is  full 
enough  for  to-day;  your  breakfast  would  stick  in  my  hatches." 
The  old  salt  walked  out  of  the  inn,  without  saying  another  word, 
and  was  soon  out  of  sight  of  the  villagers,  who  had  crowded  round 
the  door. 

The  story  soon  spread  over  the  village,  and  received  a  variety  of 
commentaries,  agreeably  to  the  various  impressions,  left  upon  the 
minds  of  different  persons,  in  relation  to  the  subject  of  it.  "There 
is  an  end  of  the  devil's  bird,"  said  Squire  Hawk.  "It  all  comes  of 
intemperance,"  said  Deacon  Squeak,  as  he  had  just  come  from  pour 
ing  twenty-one  gallons  of  pure  water  into  a  hogshead  containing 
forty-two  gallons  of  New  England  rum.  There  were  some,  how 
ever  who  viewed  the  matter  in  a  different  light;  and  who  were  wil 
ling,  now  that  he  was  gone,  to  admit  that  Dick  was  not  a  hard 
hearted  boy.  Old  Sukey,  the  cripple,  said  that  he  was  a  great 
rogue;  "but  there,"  said  she,  showing  her  crutch,  "the  little  fol 
io**  i  lade  it  for  me,  and  I  *ve  used  no  other  for  three  years."  The 
news  cast  a  gloom  over  the  family  of  farmer  I  attle.  Robert,  who 
first  heard  the  tale,  was  scarcely  able  to  relate  it  to  his  father  and 
mother.  The  good  man  moralized  very  sensibly  upon  the  subject; 
ran  briefly  over  the  history  of  poor  Wild  and  his  wife ;  admitted  that 
Richard  was  a  boy  of  good  parts,  and  of  an  affectionate  temper ;  and 


WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROE  N.  21 

very  properly  ascribed  his  bad  habits  and  untimel)  end  to  the  exam 
ple  of  his  w  -etched  parents. 

In  a  few  years,  farmer  Little  found  it  convenient  to  employ  a  boy, 
upon  his  farm,  instead  of  his  own  son,  whom  he  had  thoughts  of 
putting  under  the  care  of  Parson  Jones,  to  be  fitted  for  college.  A 
neighbor  had  made  trial,  for  some  time,  of  a  lad,  obtained  at  the 
House  of  Reformation ;  and  the  farmer  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
follow  the  example.  He  made  application  accordingly.  In  a  short 
time,  he  received  an  answer  from  the  directors,  stating,  that  theic 
was  a  boy  in  the  institution,  by  the  name  of  Isaac  Lane,  who  was 
desirous  of  going  on  a  farm,  and  whom  they  were  willing  to  bind 
out,  and  could  safely  recommend.  Farmer  Little  agreed  to  receive 
him,  and  a  day  was  appointed  to  visit  the  city,  for  the  purpose  of 
executing  the  indentures.  Before  the  period  arrived,  he  received  t> 
letter  from  the  directors,  in  the  following  words : — 

BOSTON,  May  23,  18—. 
DEAR  SIR: 

A  circumstance  has  occurred  of  which  it  is  proper  to  give 
you  immediate  notice.  TJie  lad,  whom  roe  were  about  to  bind  out  to 
you,  and  who  had  appeared  much  gratified  with  the  arrangement  pro 
posed ',  upon  the  statement  of  your  name  and  residence,  became  exceed 
ingly  dejected  and  embarrassed,  and  finally  communicated  thefollowing 
story  to  one  of  the  directors.  He  says  that  his  real  name  is  Richard 
Wild ;  that  his  parents  are  living,  he  believes,  in  your  village ;  that 
he  ran  away  four  years  ago,  and  was  induced  to  go  to  sea  by  a  sailor, 
who  ivas  particularly  kind  to  him ;  that  he  was  washed  overboard  in 
the  Gulf  Stream,  in  a  gale  of  wind,  and,  seizing  a  hencoop  that 
was  thrown  after  him,  was  taken  up  the  next  morning,  and 
finally  brought  into  this  port;  that,  not  wishing  to  use  his  real 
name,  he  adopted  that  of  the  sailor,  who  carried  him  to  sea.  Un 
der  this  name,  he  was  sent  to  the  House  of  Reformation,  for  tip 
pling  and  stealing.  He  is  willing  to  come  into  your  employ,  but 
thinks  you  will  not  be  willing  to  receive  him.  You  will  do  as  you 
think  proper.  It  is  but  an  act  of  justice  to  this  lad  to  say,  that 
his  conduct  here  has  been  exemplary,  and  he  appears  to  us  to  have 
needed  nothing,  but  the  advantages  of  mo~al  influence.  He  is  in 
great  favor  with  his  fellows,  not  less  than  uith  the  superintendent  and 
directors.  He  has  been  two  years  in  the  institution.  An  early  answer 
is  requested.  Respectfully  yows,  6ft. 

The  "stonishment,  produced  by  the  reception  of  this  letter,  in  the 
family  of  farmer  Little,  ran  easily  be  conceived.  The  course  to  be 
pursued  became  a  subject  for  serious  reflection  with  the  farmer,  who 


22  WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN. 

seldom  had  occasion  to  repent,  at  his  leisure,  of  follies  committed  in 
haste.  It  scarcely  need  be  stated,  that  Robert  and  his  mother  were 
strongly  in  favor  of  receiving  Richard  Wild,  as  one  of  the  family. 
The  next  day  farmer  Little  set  forth  for  the  city,  to  form  an  opinion 
for  himself,  after  seeing  the  boy,  and  conversing  with  the  directors. 
In  two  days  he  returned,  with  Richard  Wild  at  his  side,  now  no 
longer  little  Dick,  but  a  tall  stout  boy,  with  an  agreeable  but  rather 
sober  expression  efface.  It  was  an  interestir  g  sight  to  witness  the 
affectionate  meeting  between  Richard  Wild  and  Robert  Little.  The 
farmer  admitted  to  his  family,  that  he  could  scarcely  have  believed 
't  possible,  that  so  great  a  change  could  have  been  wrought  in  any 
boy,  as  appeared  to  have  been  produced  in  Richard,  during  his  resi 
dence  at  the  House  of  Reformation ;  and  he  expressed  himself  highly 
gratified  by  the  manner  in  which  he  had  received  the  intelligence  of 
the  death  of  his  parents.  The  continued  exhibition  of  precept  and 
example,  at  that  excellent  institution,  for  such  a  length  of  time,  had 
broken  the  chain  of  evil  habit,  and  given  to  this  unfortunate  and 
misguided  boy  a  new  departure,  as  the  sailors  say,  for  the  voyage  of 
life.  "How  very  great,"  said  farmer  Little,  " are  the  responsibil 
ities  of  parents,  for  the  influence  of  their  example  upon  their  chil 
dren  !  And  how  can  we  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  those  kind-hearted 
men,  who  tread  in  the  steps  of  their  blessed  Master;  who  go  abort 
doing  good;  who  have  built  up  such  institutions  as  these;  and  \vho 
go  up  and  down  the  streets  of  our  great  cities,  snatching  these  brands 
from  the  burning!  "  "I  consider  the  House  of  Reformation,"  said 
Parson  Jones,  who  had  heard  of  this  remarkable  event,  and  ridden 
over,  but  too  late,  to  see  Richard,  who  had  gone  to  his  work;  ';i 
consider  the  House  of  Reformation,"  said  this  good  man,  "as  a 
great  moral  machine.  How  remarkably  does  this  child  appear  to 
have  been  the  object  of  Heaven's  particular  regard !  He  has  been 
almost  miraculously  preserved  upon  the  pathless  waste  of  waters. 
He  has  not  been  permitted  to  perish  in  the  midst  of  his  wickedness ; 
but,  under  the  guidance  of  the  Father  of  the  fatherless,  he  has  been 
borne  in  safety  to  the  shore.  All  things  have  worked  together  for 
his  good.  Even  the  very  sins,  which  he  committed,  have  conducted 
him  to  the  place  of  safety  and  reformation." 

The  arrival  of  Richard  Wild  in  the  village  of  Tippletown  was 
an  event  of  no  ordinary  character.  Many  were  eager  to  behold  the 
child,  that  had  been  lost,  and  was  found;  and  not  a  few,  in  wr^c* 
tnmds  curiosity  arid  incredulity  were  blended  together,  \verj  desjroua 
of  scrutinizing  the  little  sinner,  that  was  said  to  have  routed. 
Accordingly,  on  Sabi.vuh  morning,  all  eyes  were  cunied  towards 
fanner  Little's  pew,  w  catch  a  glimpse  of  little  Du;k ;  aud  so  uni- 


WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN.  23 

versally  striking  was  the  change,  not  orly  in  size,  but  in  his  air  of 
manliness  and  the  gravity  of  his  deportment,  that  he  went  by  no 
other  name,  from  that  day,  than  Richard  Wild.  The  wretched  and 
ragged  little  runaway,  flying  barefooted  from  his  native  village,  with 
his  dirty  clothes  and  crownless  hat,  had  undergone,  to  all  appear 
ance,  a  complete  transformation,  within  and  without.  He  was  now 
nearly  fifteen  years  of  age,  and  robust  for  his  years.  His  ruddy 
complexion,  well-washed  face,  and  smooth  dark  hair,  together  with 
his  blue  jacket  and  trowsers,  white  collar  and  neat  black  riband, 
\vere  indicative  of  cleanliness  and  health.  After  meeting,  as  farmer 
Little  and  his  wife,  with  their  daughter  Abigail,  were  returning 
home,  followed  by  Robert  and  Richard,  when  they  had  turned  off 
the  main  road  into  the  by-way  that  leads  to  the  farm,  they  were 
called  after  by  old  Sukey,  the  cripple,  who  came  hobbling  behind 
them,  as  fasl  as  leg  and  crutch  could  carry  her.  They  paused  for 
old  Sukey  to  come  up  with  them.  "Now  tell  me,"  said  she,  "is 
it  Richard  Wild?  I  have  kept  my  eyes  on  the  boy,  sinner  that  I 
am,  the  whole  morning,  but  he  has  not  lifted  his  own  to  give  me  a 
chance  to  see  if  it  was  he,  by  the  little  cast  that  he  had,  you  know." 
Richard  shook  hands  with  the  zealous  old  creature,  and  no  sooner 
raised  his  eyes  upon  her  than  she  exclaimed,  "Oh  yes,  it  is  he;  and 
you  was  not  drowned,  after  all,  was  you,  poor  boy?  You  was 
always  a  good-hearted  boy,  Richard,  and  you  see,"  said  she,  hold 
ing  up  the  old  crutch,  "you  see  I  have  kept  it,  haven't  I?"  Rich 
ard  was  pained  and  pleased  by  the  various  recollections,  associated 
with  the  circumstance,  to  which  the  old  woman  referred;  and,  with 
another  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  and  a  promise  to  come  and  visit 
her  at  her  old  cottage,  he  bade  her  good-by,  and  followed  the  farmer 
and  his  family,  who  had  advanced  a  little  way  before. 

Richard  continued  to  grow  in  favor  with  God  and  man.  He 
gave  farmer  Little  complete  satisfaction,  by  his  obedience,  industry, 
•and  sobriety.  He  was  permitted  to  cultivate  a  small  patch  of  ground, 
<)n  his  own  account ;  and  the  first  money  which  he  obtained  by  his 
diligence  was  employed  in  procuring  a  plain  gray  slab,  which  he 
placed  upon  the  spot,  where  the  sexton  assured  him  his  parents  wero 
buried;  though  nothing  marked  the  place  but  the  crowning  sod. 
The  inscription  was  wonderfully  simple,  and  intended,  not  as  an 
unmerited  honor  to  the  dead,  but  as  a  simple  memorandum  fo:  him 
self.  It  was  comprehended  in  five  words,  with  his  own  initials,  and 
tanthus:  "Mv  POOR  FATHER  AND  MOTHER.  R.  W." 

He  was  very  kind  to  old  Sukey,  who  was  very  poor,  but  who 
kept  herself  from  dependence  on  the  town  for  support,  by  her  own 
industr> ,  and  the  assistance  of  her  daughter  Margaret,  who,  with  are 


24  WILD  DIUK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN 

old  house  dog,  were  the  only  tenants  of  the  little  low  cottage,  at  the 
bend  of  the  river. 

It  is  now  eighteen  years  since  Richard  returned  to  the  village 
Few  villages,  in  the  same  number  of  years,  have  undergone  such 
remarkable  changes  as  Tippletown.  It  is  changed  in  name  and  in 
nature.  It  is  now  called  Waterville,  and  not  a  single  license  is 
granted,  within  its  bounds,  for  the  sale  of  ardent  spirit.  It  is  hard, 
as  the  proverb  saith,  for  an  old  dog  to  learn  new  tricks :  Squire 
Hawk,  having  been  removed  from  the  board  of  selectmen,  and  una 
ble  to  obtain  a  license  for  the  sale  of  rum,  in  that  village,  removed 
his  residence  to  another ;  and,  after  keeping  a  grog-shop  for  a  few 
years,  died  of  the  dropsy.  We  are  grieved  to  say,  that  Deacon 
Squeak  died  a  drunkard,  and  was  ',uried  from  the  poor-house.  . 

As  you  enter  the  village,  over  the  great  county  road,  you  see,  at 
a  short  distance  from  the  public  way,  and  on  the  westerly  side  of  it, 
under  the  shade  of  some  .emarkable  elms,  two  white  houses  with 
green  blinds ;  they  are  ^recisely  alike.  One  of  them  is  the  residence 
of  the  Reverend  Robert  Little,  the  present  worthy  minister;  and  the 
other  is  occupied  by  Richard  Wild,  Esquire,  the  chairman  of  the 
selectmen.  These  houses  are  on  the  very  sites  once  occupied  by 
the  cottages  in  which  "  Wild  Dick  "  and  "  Good  Little  Robin  "  were 
born.  There  is  a  beautiful  summer-house,  tastefully  covered 
with  grape-vines,  lying  midway  between  these  dwellings,  and  which 
is  obviously  common  to  both.  It  is  constructed  over  the  rock  at  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  upon  which  they  used  to  convene,  with  their 
dippers  of  bread  and  milk,  some  thirty  years  ago.  Old  farmer  Lit 
tle  and  his  wife  are  yet  living,  or  were  in  June  last,  and  residing 
happily  with  their  children.  Their  son,  the  clergyman,  married  an 
amiable  young  lady  from  a  neighboring  town.  Abigail  is  married ; 
not  as  the  reader  supposes,  and  as  the  whole  village  had  arranged  it, 
to  Richard  Wild,  but  to  a  respectable  farmer  in  the  upper  parish. 

About  eight  years  ago,  the  British  consul  published  the  following 
advertisement:  —  "If  Richard  Wild,  who,  in  the  year  18 — ,  was 
washed  overboard  from  the  ship  George,  off  Cape  Hatter  as,  be  living, 
he  is  requested  to  give  notice  at  the  office  of  the  British  consul,  in  this 
city."  Some  person  informed  Richard  of  the  publication.  He 
accordingly  presented  himself  at  the  consul's  office,  and  was  shown 
the  copy  of  a  will,  in  these  words: — "I,  Isaac  Lane,  now  of  the 
city  of  London,  master  mariner,  having  no  near  relation,  do  hereby 
give,  devise  and  bequeath  all  my  estate  in  this  world,  to  Richard 
Wild,  formerly  of  Tippletown,  in  the  commonwealth  of  Massachu 
setts,  in  Nbw  England,  and  to  his  heirs  forever,  provided,  as  is 
barely  possible,  the  said  Richard  be  living,  and  claim  this  bequest 


WILD  DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE    ROBIN.  25 

within  two  years  from  my  decease,  otherwise  to  the  use  of  Green 
wich  Hospital. ' '  Here  followed  the  testamentary  formalities.  The 
consul  then  requested  Richard  to  exhibit  his  right  arm ;  upon  which 
were  seen  pricked  in.  with  India  ink,  an  anchor  with  the  initials, 
I.  L.  — R.  W.  He  then  put  into  his  hands  a  letter  from  a  barrister 
in  London,  referring  to  these  particulars,  and  stating  that  the  prop 
erty  amounted  to  not  much  less  than  .£4,000  sterling,  or  rather 
more  than  $17,000,  American  money.  The  necessary  arrange 
ments  were  soon  made ;  and  little  runaway  Dick  became  an  object 
of  particular  interest  with  the  males,  and  even  with  some  of  the 
females  of  Tippletown,  as  Mr.  Richard  Wild,  with  a  fortune  of 
$  17,000,  and  not  a  debt  in  the  world;  which  is  more  than  many  a 
merchant  can  say  of  himself,  though,  with  one  eye  closed  upon  his 
debts,  and  the  other  open  upon  his  credits,  he  may  look  down  upon 
the  clear  estate  of  Mr.  Wild  with  infinite  contempt.  Squire  Hawk 
had  a  very  pretty  daughter ;  and  there  was  no  man  in  the  village 
more  obsequious  to  Richard.  Mr.  Wild  always  treated  the  Squire 
with  the  respect  due  to  an  older  man,  but  he  came  no  nearer.  He 
had  never  crossed  the  fatal  threshold  of  his  shop  since  his  return. 
He  considered  Squire  Hawk  and  the  Deacon  as  the  prime  ministers 
of  the  ruin  of  his  parents ;  but  he  did  not  presume,  by  any  act  of 
hostility  to  either,  to  assume  the  high  office  of  Him,  to  whom  ven 
geance  belongs.  Shortly  after  this  unexpected  accession  of  property, 
Miss  Hepsy  Hawk  astonished  the  parish  with  an  expensive  salmon- 
colored  silk,  and  a  new  Navarino;  and  she  used  to  linger  an  unne 
cessary  length  of  time  at  the  door  of  her  father's  pew,  till  Mr.  Wild 
came  down  the  aisle ;  and  then  she  would  go  wriggling  and  fidget 
ing  out  by  his  side  as  close  as  she  could  decently  get.  But,  after 
a  while,  finding  that  she  could  not  attract  his  attention,  she  gave  up 
the  experiment,  contenting  herself  with  remarking  to  all  her  acquaint 
ances,  that  he  was  dreadfully  cross-eyed. 

Mr.  Richard  Wild  managed  his  property  with  great  discretion. 
His  first  act  was  to  purchase  the  old  homestead  on  which  he  was 
oorn.  He  was  particularly  kind  to  the  poor,  and  old  Sukey  Lam- 
son,  the  cripple,  came  in  for  a  full  share  of  his  beneficence.  The 
villagers  were  very  much  surprised  at  his  kind  attention,  when  he 
became  overseer  of  the  poor,  to  the  old  Deacon,  who  was  then  in 
the  poor-house.  The  mystery  was  easily  explained, —  Richard 
Wild  was  a  Christian.  It  was  rather  remarkable,  that  the  last  frac 
tion  of  the  Deacon's  estate  should  have  been  sold  by  him  to  Richard 
Wild,  arid  that  it  should  have  been  the  very  meadow  land  which, 
under  circumstances  painfully  similar,  had  been  sold  by  his  father  to 
the  Deacon  himself. 

VOL.  i.  3 


26  WILD   DICK  AND  GOOD  LITTLE  ROBIN. 

There  was  a  prodigious  stir  in  the  village  when  Richard  was  mar 
ried.  Sukey,  the  cripple,  was  at  the  wedding,  leaning  on  her  old 
crutch,  and  with  a  new  gown  and  kerchief;  and  nobody  had  a  greater 
right  to  be  there.  There  was  no  little  confusion  and  surprise,  when, 
a  fev;  Sabbaths  before,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Little  published  the  bans 
of  marriage,  between  Mr.  Richard  Wild  and  Miss  Margaret  Lam- 
son.  Margaret  was  a  pious  girl ;  and,  if  it  were  sinful  to  be  pretty, 
no  girl  in  the  parish  had  more  to  answer  for  than  Margaret  Lamson ; 
though  she  was  altogether  too  poor  to  think  of  a  Navarino  or  a 
salmon-colored  silk.  I  need  not  say  that  Parson  Little  performed 
the  marriage  ceremony.  When,  after  the  service,  he  went  up  to 
congratulate  old  Sukey,  "  Ay,"  said  she,  holding  up  the  old  crutch, 
"  he  will  always  be  a  stay  and  a  staff  to  me,  and  he  always  has  been, 
and  nobody  knows  it  better  than  you,  Robin — the  Lord  forgive  me, 
but  I  am  getting  old,  and  can't  help  looking  upon  ye  both  as  my 
boys."  The  old  woman  is  still  living,  at  the  age  of  eighty-nine. 
She  retains  her  faculties  surprisingly ;  and  may  be  seen  every  morn 
ing,  at  the  front  chamber  window  of  the  Squire's  house,  with  her 
knitting  in  her  hands. 

There  is  a  common  bond  among  all  the  virtues :  no  truly  good 
man  was  ever  ungrateful :  every  year,  Mr.  Wild  sends  a  fine  cheese 
and  a  barrel  of  apples  to  the  superintendent  of  the  House  of  Refor 
mation,  not  for  their  intrinsic  vilue,  but  as  a  continuing  mark  of  his 
grateful  and  affectionate  respe  t. 


I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD ! 


For  an  unbeliever  in  the  doctrines  of  revelation,  we  can  pray,  that  God  would  help  his  unlel:ef. 
For  an  unbeliever  in  the  existence  of  a  God,  we  can  scarcely  frame  words,  in  the  form  of  a  suitable 
petition.  We  shudder  at  our  own  presumption,  as  we  approach  the  mercy-seat. 

A  Deist  or  an  Atheist,  in  former  days,  might  have  been  occasionally  found,  in  our  cities,  wandering 
•ni  alone  ;  his  hand,  like  the  hand  of  Ishmael,  against  every  man,  and  every  man's  hand  against 

It  is  not  so,  at  the  present  time.  Infidelity  and  Atheism  plant  their  standard  in  the  very  heart  of 
our  metropolis.  Yet,  in  the  words  of  our  Declaration  of  Rights,  "  It  is  the  ri?ht  as  well  as  the  duty 
of  all  men  in  society,  publicly,  and  at  stated  seasons,  to  worship  the  SUPREME  BEING,  the  great 
Creator  and  Preserver  of  the  universe." 

For  the  miserable  individual,  who  disbelieves,  all  by  himself,  and  troubles  not  the  world  with  the 
account  of  those  crooked  paths  and  painful  processes,  by  which  he  descends  into  those  awful  depths, 
where  he  lies  forlorn  ;  for  him  we  have  no  other  feeling,  than  that  of  commiseration. 

For  the  abandoned  wretch,  who  dares,  in  the  most  open  and  audacious  manner,  to  lay  his  unhal 
lowed  hand*  upon  the  book  of  God,  — not  lo  expound  the  Scripture,  but  to  prove  the  word  of  God  lo 
be  a  lie;  — who  can  teach  nothing,  because  he  knows  nothing  ;— who  gathers  around  him  a  group 
of  both  sexes  and  all  ages,  and  endeavors  to  prepare  them  for  a  carerr  of  infamy,  by  rending  away, 
one  alter  another,  the  posts  and  pillars,  upon  which  the  socia',  ix^ipact  is  sustained  ;  —  who  would 
take  away  the  hope,  that  makes  the  humble  Christum  happy,  ami  lelve  him  nothing  but  mourning,  in 
his  dying  hour,  for  the  oil  of  joy  ;  who  vends  hooks,  indeienl  and  abominable  in  their  character,  and 
wilfully  wicked  in  their  design  ;  for  such  a  corrupt  and  profligaie  scoundrel  as  this,  we  have  no  other 
feeling  than  a  sentiment  of  unmeasured  and  Un mingled  abhoirence. 

Ciin  it  he  believed,  that  a  wretch,  so  depraved,  can  be  found  upon  the  earth,  who  will  dare  to  show 
his  contempt  for  God's  holy  word,  by  hurling  the  sacred  book  across  the  room,  in  a  public  assembly 

of  males  and  females  ! Such  is  the  fact.  We  leave  the  reflections  to  those,  who  well  know  what 

offences  are  punishable  by  indictment  at  common  law,  and  to  those  who  desire  not  to  leave  their  offi 
cial  duties  unperformed. 

The  rnurdeier,  the  thief,  the  corrupter  of  innocence,  the  advocate  of  "  liberal"  principles,  the 
consistent  villain,  who  shudders  at  nothing  hut  the  imputation  of  hypocrisy,  who  admits  the  charge 
of  seduction,  but  defies  the  world  to  show  that  he  ever  laid  claim  to  superior  sanctity,  these  and  their 
confederate!,  who  are  the  main  pillars  of  infidel  societies,  are  seldom  cold  water  men.  The  stimulus 
of  intoxication  impels  its  youthful  votary  to  the  gaming  house  or  the  brothel  ;  and  then,  to  relieve  the 
conscience,  yet  uuseared,  of  iis  oppressive  load,  it  conducts  him  to  the  schools  of  infidelity;  where 
he  is  happy  to  be  told,  and  struggles  10  believe,  that  .10  crime,  however  atrocious,  can  entail  upon 
Us  perpetrator  any  punishment,  beyond  the  grave  ;  that  "  the  judgment  "  shall  never  come  ;  and  thiit 
the  ideas  of  a  God  and  uf  a  future  state  are  perfectly  nbsurd.  Schools  of  infidelity  are  obviouslv  tne 
preparatory  houses  for  every  variety  of  crime  ;  and  the  offender,  stained  with  crime,  and  trembling 
with  alarm,  flies  back  for  absolution;  and  is  comforted,  while  he  listens  to  the  proclamation  of  a 
miserable  being,  who  is  probably  remarkable  for  nothing  but  his  ignorance  and  his  audacity,  that 
lri°re  is  no  God. 

Life  is  passing  like  a  dream.  The  grave,  ere  long,  will  demand  its  tribute.  No  human  being  can 
r!>  ii.onstnte,  that  there  is  not  a  God  ;  and  the  last  hour  of  the  infidel  may  bring  with  it  an  age  of 
agouy  ;  and  his  soul  may  be  filled  with  the  tremendous  apprehension,  that  there  isl 


MY  father  was  a  respectable  mechanic  in  the  town  of .  On 

the  subject  of  religion  there  existed  the  most  perfect  unanimity 
between  my  father  and  my  mother ;  and  their  whole  lives  were 
ample  illustrations  of  their  confidence  in  the  promises  of  God,  and 
of  their  firm  and  sustaining  belief  in  the  precepts  and  doctrines  of 
Christianity.  My  parents  were  both  members  of  the  Temperance 
Society,  and  earnest  promoters  of  the  cause,  to  the  extent  of  their 
limited  influence  and  ability. 

They  were  the  parents  of  three  children,  Absalom,  Bethiah,  and 
myself.  At  the  age  of  forty-five,  I  look  back  upon  their  simple 
manners  and  consistent  piety,  with  a  feeling  of  affectionate  respect. 
The  village  of ,  which  was  our  place  of  residence,  retains  hi 


28  I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS   A   GOP! 

primitive  simplicity,  such  as  it  was,  some  forty  years  ago,  in  a 
degree  beyond  almost  any  village  in  the  commonwealth  ;  not 
because  it  is  situated  at  a  very  remote  distance  from  the  metropolis, 
for  such  is  not  the  fact ;  but  its  water  privileges  have  not  yet  attracted 
the  serious  attention  of  the  manufacturer;  it  lies  abroad  fiom  all  the 
routes  of  existing  canals  and  contemplated  railways ;  it  has  not  been-- 
so  fortunate  as  to  become  the  residence  of  any  man  of  fortune,  retired 
from  the  bustle  of  the  world;  and  it  has  never  given  birrh  to  any 
m?re  distinguished  personage,  than  General  Driver,  who  keeps  the 
public  house ;  is  chairman  of  the  selectmen ;  commands  the  militia ; 
and  represents  the  town  in  the  General  Court. 

The  village  pound,  and  the  old  gunhouse,  with  its  red  doors  and 
weather-beaten  flagstaff,  are  just  where  they  were,  when  I  used  to 
gather  to  the  spot,  with  all  the  children  of  the  village,  to  see  Wash 
ington  and  Adams  dragged  forth  upon  the  common,  on  the  fourth 
of  July ;  for  such  were  the  titles  of  two  brass  four  pounders,  intrusted 
to  the  care  of  Captain  Solomon  Dow.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Cooley 
is  still  the  parson  of  the  parish ;  and,  although  a  new  generation  has 
sprung  up,  since  the  days  of  my  boyhood,  there  is  enough  remain 
ing  of  all,  that  once  was,  to  enable  the  memory  to  play  the  architect 
adroitly,  and  rebuild  the  edifice,  with  all  its  parts  and  proportions, 
within  and  without.  Even  of  the  pulpit  cushion,  upon  which  the 
good  man  has  administered  for  forty  years,  there  is  enough  remain 
ing  to  settle  the  question  of  identity.  The  young  women  enter  the 
meeting-house,  with  sprigs  of  fennel,  and  the  boys,  with  pond  lilies 
in  their  hands ;  old  Caleb  Kidder  sits  in  the  singers'  seat,  with  hia 
Ditch-pipe,  just  where  he  used  to  sit ;  and  Madam  Moody,  at  the  age 
of  eighty,  in  her  old  brocade,  occupies  the  same  seat,  in  the  broad 
aisle,  on  the  right,  as  you  enter,  which  she  occupied  full  forty  years 
ago. 

It  has  pleased  God  to  bless  me  in  my  basket  and  my  store  ;  an*l 
I  never  feel  so  grateful,  for  the  bounties  of  Providence,  as  when  I 
reflect,  that  they  have  enabled  me  to  succor  and  sustain  my  honored 
parents,  in  their  dark  days,  and  to  repay  them,  in  some  measure, 
for  all  their  kindness,  which  I  never  fully  appreciated,  till  I  became 
a  parent  myself.  They  still  live  in  the  old  cottage  ;  and,  after  many 
afflictions,  from  a  quarter  whence  they  had  anticipated  nothing  but 
rays  of  comfort,  in  their  latter  days,  they  present  a  pattern  of  Chris 
tian  resignation  to  God's  holy  will. 

My  parents,  as  1  have  stated,  were  pious  people.  They  were  in 
the  practice  of  morning  and  evening  devotion.  My  father  never 
omitted  it,  unless  he  was  prevented  by  sickness ;  and,  however 
pressed  for  time,  he  never  departed  from  a  slow  and  reverential 
manner  of  performing  it  "  Whatever  business  may  be  delayed," 


I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD!  29 

ne  used  sometimes  to  say,  "  the  Lord's  work  should  never  be  hur 
ried."  Notwithstanding  the  daily  precept  and  example  of  this  wor 
thy  couple,  they  were  called  to  a  bitter  trial.  The  wall  of  strength 
which  they  had  endeavored  to  build  round  about  them,  the  safeguard 
of  religion,  which  they  had  raised  for  the  protection  of  their  lambs, 
was  not  sufficient  for  them  all: — the  wolf  leaped  into  the  fold, 
and  snatched  one  from  their  grasp — they  were  the  parents  of  a 
DRUNKARD  and  an  INFIDEL! 

I  have  often  thought  that  the  simple  narrative  of  their  blasted 
hopes  would  furnish  materials  for  an  interesting  tale. 

Upon  a  Saturday  morning,  in  the  month  of  June,  18 — ,  a  young 
gentleman,  of  very  genteel  appearance,  arrived  with  a  fine  horse 
and  stylish  gig,  at  the  door  of  Driver's  tavern;  and,  delivering  his 
equipage  to  the  hostler,  requested  accommodations,  for  a  day  or 
two,  during  his  stay  in  the  village.  It  was  soon  rumored  about,  that 
the  stranger  was  no  less  a  personage  than  Mr.  Bobb,  active  partner 
in  the  firm  of  Bobb  and  Binnacle.  There  could  be  no  reasonable 
doubt  upon  the  subject,  for  he  had  communicated  the  information 
himself,  before  he  had  been  an  hour  in  the  village,  to  the  hostler  and 
the  barkeeper;  incidentally  dropping  a  hint,  now  and  then,  of  their 
extensive  operations,  and  very  considerable  interest  in  various  man 
ufacturing  establishments.  The  manufacturing  fever  was,  at  this 
period,  approaching  that  remarkable  crisis,  after  which  so  many  sub 
jects  were  reduced  to  a  condition  of  weakness,  from  which  they  have 
not  entirely  recovered  at  the  present  day.  The  mania  had  not  actu 
ally  extended  to  our  village ;  but  the  proprietors  of  land,  bounding 
on  the  river,  evidently  considered  their  estates  of  greater  importance. 
The  value  of  water  privileges,  the  law  of  flowage,  and  the  prodig 
ious  profits  of  manufacturers,  became  topics  of  frequent  conversation 
at  the  tavern  and  the  grocery.  Squire  Gookin  openly  and  frequently 
avowed,  that  he  would  not  sell  his  meadow  lot,  above  the  red  bridge, 
for  six  times  the  sum  it  cost  him ;  and  he  has  faithfully  kept  his 
word  to  the  present  day. 

Mr.  Bobb  had  scarcely  refreshed  himself  and  his  apparel,  after  a 
dusty  drive,  with  a  basin  of  pure  water  and  a  clothes-brush,  before 
he  inquired  of  General  Driver,  who  was  stirring  up  toddy  for  the 
selectmen,  who  were  in  session  at  the  inn,  whether  there  were  not 
some  good  privileges  on  the  river,  that  might  be  bought  up,  on  spec 
ulation.  The  General  mentioned  Squire  Gookin's,  and  two  or  three 
others.  He  offered  the  services  of  his  son,  to  show  Mr.  Bobb  the 
locations,  and  apologized  for  not  being  able  to  go  himself;  but  it  was 
haying  time,  and  the  press  for  toddy  was  so  great,  that  he  could  not 
'eave. 

VOL.  I.  3* 


30  I  AM  AFRAm  rHERE  IS  A  GOB* 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on,  Enoch  Smith,  who  went, 
I  remember,  by  the  name  of  Skyrocket  Enoch,  because  his  stories 
flew  so  swiftly,  and  ended  so  frequently  in  smoke ;  Enoch,  who  had 
listened  attentively  to  the  conversation,  lost  no  time  in  repairing  to 
Squire  Gookin's,  and  assuring  him,  that  a  gentleman  of  great  wealth 
had  come  from  the  city,  on  purpose  to  buy  his  water  privilege. 
Shortly  after,  Mr.  Bobb  and  the  General's  son  were  seen  going  in 
the  direction  of  the  river ;  and  it  was  rather  amusing  to  observe  the 
Squire  carefully  watching  their  operations,  from  behind  his  corn- 
barn. 

On  Sabbath  morning,  Mr.  Bobb  was  ushered  into  General  Dri 
ver's  pew,  by  no  less  a  personage  than  the  General  himself;  and  it 
was  universally  agreed,  that  a  prettier  man  never  walked  up  the 
broad  aisle,  than  Mr.  Bobb.  Katy  Cummings,  who  was  too  much 
of  a  wag  ever  to  get  a  husband,  admitted  that  he  had  disturbed  her 
devotions,  and  that  she  should  have  set  her  cap  for  him,  if  he  had 
not  appeared  to  take  so  much  comfort  in  his  whiskers.  One  young 
woman  obviously  attracted  the  stranger's  attention,  in  an  extraor 
dinary  degree ;  decidedly  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  parish ;  no  other 
than  my  sister,  Bethiah.  In  the  afternoon,  the  constant  direction  of 
his  eyes  towards  my  father's  pew  became  so  very  particular,  as  to 
attract  the  notice,  and  provoke  the  smiles,  of  more  than  one  of  Mr. 
Cooley's  congregation ;  and,  in  the  evening,  young  Mr.  Driver  con 
ceived  himself  authorized,  by  his  intimacy  with  our  family,  to  intro 
duce  Mr.  Bobb  to  our  acquaintance.  He  was  evidently  desirous 
of  making  himself  agreeable,  and  he  certainly  succeeded.  It  was 
apparent  to  me,  from  the  very  first  moment  of  his  introduction,  that 
Bethiah  was  not  at  all  deficient  in  that  mother  wit,  which  enables  a 
young  woman  to  divine,  if  a  gentleman's  visit  be  intended  for  her 
self;  and  I  was  not  less  assured,  in  my  own  mind,  that  she  was 
pleased,  that  it  should  be.  His  desire  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
every  member  of  our  family  rendered  his  manners  extremely  re 
spectful  and  modest ;  and  we  heard  little  of  the  extensive  operations 
of  Bobb  and  Binnacle.  He  repeated  his  visit,  upon  the  following 
day ;  and,  whatever  might  have  been  the  measure  of  his  original 
interest  in  manufacturing  speculations,  it  soon  became  apparent,  that 
he  had  lost  all  recollection  of  Squire  Gookin  and  his  \vater  privileges, 
in  a  subject  of  a  more  absorbing  nature. 

His  visit  in  the  village  was  extended  beyond  the  period  which  ha 
had  assigned  for  his  departure;  and  he  was  finally  summoned  away, 
by  a  letter  from  Mr.  Binnacle,  informing  him  of  an  unexpected  pres 
sure  in  the  money  market.  His  attentions  to  my  sister  were  very 
particular ;  and  the  manner  in  which  those  attentions  were  received 


I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD!  31 

eft  no  doubt  of  the  favorable  impression  .b\ch  had  been  made  upon 
*er  mind,  perhaps  upon  her  heart.  The  possibility  of  such  a  conse 
quence  had  occurred  to  both  my  parents.  Bethiah  was  an  excellent 
girl,  but  her  mind  was  not  altogether  *.se  from  a  romantic  bias.  My 
father  thought  proper  to  converse  with  her  upon  the  danger  of  indulg 
ing  any  other  feelings,  than  those  of  good  will,  towards  an  individual, 
of  whom  she  knew  so  little,  as  of  this  agreeable  stranger.  —  "Dear 
father,"  said  she,  bursting  into  tears,  "  we  are  engaged,  provided  you 
and  mother  will  give  your  consent,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  not  refuse  it, 
when  you  come  to  know  Mr.  Bobb  as  well  as  I  do." — "  Gracious  heav 
en!"  cried  her  astonished  father,  "engaged!  — know  him  as  well  as 
you  do !  — my  child,  you  are  but  seventeen  years  of  age,  and  you  have 
seen  this  young  man  every  day,  for  a  week ;  what  can  you  know  of 
him?" — "  Dear  father,"  replied  this  infatuated  girl,  "  I  know  every 
thing  ;  he  has  told  me  all  about  his  family,  and  his  situation  in  life. 
His  partner,  Mr.  Binnacle,  is  a  retired  sea-captain,  of  handsome 
property.  He  knows  little  or  nothing  of  the  business  in  which  they 
are  engaged,  and  leaves  everything  to  the  management  of  Mr. 
Bobb."  —  "Leaves  everything  to  the  management  of  Mr.  Bobb!  " 
exclaimed  my  father,  in  atone  almost  of  derision.  "Bethiah,  as 
you  respect  my  paternal  authority,  and  value  my  happiness  and  your 
own,  proceed  no  further  in  this  rash  business,  until  I  have  made 
such  inquiries  as  are  dictated  by  common  prudence." 

My  poor  father  conferred  with  my  mother,  as  a  matter  of  course ; 
and  blamed  himself  severely,  for  permitting  an  attractive  young  man, 
of  whom  he  knew  so  little,  to  jeopardize  the  happiness  of  his  child. 
"Perhaps,"  said  my  mother,  "he  maybe  all  that  he  represents 
himself  to  be."  —  "It  may  be  so,"  said  my  father,  "  but  I  will  suf 
fer  the  matter  no  longer  to  remain  in  uncertainty.  I  will  go.  to 
morrow,  to  the  city,  and  make  all  proper  inquiries  on  the  subject.' 
Without  disclosing  his  intention  to  any  other  person,  he  set  forth, 
at  an  early  hour. 

Mr.  Bobb  had  left  behind  a  zealous  advocate,  in  my  brother  Absa 
lorn,  who  was  one  year  younger  than  Bethiah.  Indeed  it  would  be 
difficult  to  say,  upon  which  of  the  two  this  young  man  had  produced 
the  more  favorable  impression.  It  is  sometimes  amusing  to  contem 
plate  the  fantastical  grounds,  upon  which  youthful  lovers  will  rest  a 
conviction,  that  they  are  destined  by  Heaven,  for  each  other.  After 
exhausting  all  other  arguments  upon  her  mother,  in  justification  of 
her  conduct,  Bethiah  admitted,  that  she  had  been  greatly  surprised, 
and  perhaps  somewhat  influenced  in  her  feelings,  by  discovering  that 
Ihe  initials  of  Bethiah  Atherton  Jennings,  when  reversed,  were  also 
the  initials  of  Julius  Augustus  Bobb. 


32  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS   .».  GOD 

My  father  returned  on  the  following  da/.  He  had  ascer^ic 3<i 
that  Bobb  and  Binnacle  were  engaged,  to  some  extent,  in  the  IE  in 
ufacturing  business.  The  depths  of  that  ocean  of  speculation  wf,re, 
at  that  time,  altogether  unfathomable.  But  my  father  evidei  tly 
inclined  to  the  hopeful  side  of  the  problem.  He  had  received  no 
information  unfavorable  to  the  moral  character  of  Mr.  Bobb.  Ha 
was  esteemed  an  amiable  man,  by  his  acquaintances,  and  perfectly 
honorable  in  his  dealings.  His  parents  had  been  free  livers,  and 
died  just  about  the  time,  when  they  had  run  through  a  very  hand 
some  property.  My  father  was  pained  to  hear,  that  this  young  man 
had  probably  received  no  serious  impressions  on  the  subject  of  relig 
ion,  in  his  youth ;  but  he  was  gratified,  on  the  other  hand,  to  learn 
that  he  was  a  member  of  the-temperance  society. 

There  are  matters  of  deeper  interest,  in  which  it  is  desirable  to 
engage  the  reader's  attention ;  and  I  will  therefore  pass  over  this 
portion  of  our  family  history,  in  a  summary  manner.  My  parents 
smiled  upon  the  hopes  of  their  daughter.  Bethiah,  in  due  time, 
became  the  wife  of  Mr.  Bobb,  and  went  to  reside  in  the  city.  The 
dawn  of  their  married  life  was  as  bright  and  clear  as  the  dawn  of  an 
April  day.  Would  to  heaven,  this  were  the  only  point,  in  which 
there  existed  a  resemblance  between  them  !  They  had  not  been 
married  six  months,  before  a  report  was  circulated  in  the  village, 
that  Bobb  and  Binnacle  had  failed.  This  report  was  readily  traced 
to  Skyrocket  Enoch,  who  had  returned  with  a  wagon  from  the  city. 
My  father  went  to  examine  Enoch,  upon  the  subject  -yliu  sta>,ed, 
that  he  had  heard  of  a  manufacturing  firm,  that  wciiid  fal  snort] y 
but  did  not  hear  their  names ;  he  guessed  it  must  be  Booo  and  Bii> 
Racle;  and  as  he  had  been  full  four  and  twenty  hours  a  coming  up, 
he  reckoned  they  must  have  failed  by  the  time  he  arrived.  Our 
apprehensions  were  excited,  on  the  following  day,  by  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Bobb,  pressing  my  father  to  come  down,  as  soon  as  possible. 
He  complied  with  this  request,  and  was  informed,  that  there  was 
not  the  least  cause  of  alarm ;  but  the  pressure  for  money  was  so 
great,  that  they  were  compelled  to  ask  his  assistance.  They  were 
in  want,  at  that  time,  of  $7,000,  and  could  obtain  it  of  the  bank, 
with  his  endorsement.  It  was  rather  more  than  all  my  father  was 
worth  in  the  world,  but  the  case  was  urgent.  He  put  his  name 
upon  their  paper;  the  $7,000  were  swallowed  up  in  the  whirlpool 
of  their  complicated  concerns,  like  a  ship's  long  boat  in  the  mael 
strom  of  Norway.  In  a  fortnight,  they  were  bankrupts,  stock  and 
fluke ;  and  my  father's  little  property,  the  laborious  accumulation 
of  many  years,  went  before  the  torrent,  like  chaff  before  the  drivin* 
storm. 


I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD!  33 

If,  upon  such  an  occasion,  there  be  any  consolation,  and  undoubtedly 
there  is,  in  universal  and  respectful  sympathy,  my  poor  old  father 
had  an  abundant  share  of  that  good  thing.  The  creditors  were  very 
considerate ;  they  were  commercial  men,  in  whom  the  spirit  oif 
trade  had  not  vanquished  the  spirit  of  compassion  and  humanity. 

My  father  surrendered  all  his  little  property,  requesting-  permis 
sion  to  retain  nothing  but  the  tools  of  his  trade,  which  were  secured  to 
him  by  law,  and  the  old  family  Bible ;  but  the  creditors  relinquished 
their  c.aim  upon  his  furniture,  and  he  gave  them  possession  of  his 
homestead,  which  was  sold  with  his  consent,  subject  to  his  right  of 
redemption,  under  the  mortgage.  "  God's  will  be  done  !"  said  he, 
as  he  locked  up  the  old  house,  for  the  last  time,  preparatory  to  the 
delivery  of  the  key  to  the  new  proprietor. 

He  was  sixty-three  years  of  age,  when  he  commenced  life  anew. 
He  went  with  my  mother,  who  boie  her  misfortunes  quite  as  well 
as  her  husband,  to  board  with  a  neighboring  farmer,  a  portion  of 
whose  barn  he  speedily  converted  into  a  temporary  work-shop  ;  and, 
the  next  morning,  the  old  sign  of  "  DAVID  JENNINGS,  HOUSE- 
WRIGHT,"  long  laid  by,  and  which  had  been  familiar  to  the  villagers 
for  thirty  years,  was  cleared  of  its  dust  and  cobwebs,  and  placed 
over  the  door. 

"  Just  what  I  should  have  expected,"  said  Parson  Cooley,  uhen 
he  first  heard  of  it.  "David  Jennings  would  sooner  take  up  the 
implements  of  honest  industry,  than  add  to  the  burthen  of  any  other 
man."  The  next  Sabbath  he  preached  an  excellent  sermon,  on 
resignation  under  afflictive  trials.  As  he  went  home,  he  observed 
to  his  wife,  "  Squire  Gookin  has  lost  a  few  sheep  of  the  rot,  and 
his  countenance  exhibited  the  deepest  distress  during  the  whole  time 
1  was  preaching ;  while  David  Jennings  and  his  wife,  who  have  los* 
all  they  have  in  the  world,  presented  the  happiest  examples  I  have 
ever  witnessed  of  cheerful  submission  to  God's  holy  will." 

Almost  immediately  after  my  sister's  marriage,  my  brother  Absa 
lom,  agreeably  to  a  previous  arrangement,  went  to  the  city,  as  an 
UT  der  clerk,  in  the  store  of  Bobb  and  Binnacle  ;  and,  at  the  time  of 
th-eir  failure,  being  a  young  man  of  good  abilities,  he  soon  found 
employment  in  another  establishment. 

From  my  early  youth,  I  had  a  partiality  for  a  seafaring  life ;  and 
I  have  followed  the  profession,  ever  since  I  was  sixteen  years  old. 
1  had  doubled  that  age,  at  the  period  of  my  sister's  marriage,  and 
arrived  from  Bombay,  just  a  week  before  the  ceremony  took  place. 
In  about  six  weeks  afterward,  I  sailed  for  Calcutta,  and  was  absent 
during  the  period  of  these  calamities,  and,  indeed,  for  nearly  three 
years,  without  any  direct  intelligence  from  home.  I  had  heard  a 
rumor  of  the  failure,  but  nothing  of  my  father's  misfortune. 


34  I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD! 

I  arrived  at  the  port  of  New  York,  in  May,  18 — ,  and  taking  the 
mail  stage,  reached  Worcester,  the  nearest  town,  upon  the  route,  to 
the  village  where  I  was  born.  I  then  obtained  a  horse  and  chaise, 
and  came  to  the  old  homestead  a  little  after  midnight.  I  rapped  at 
the  door,  and,  after  a  short  interval,  the  window  was  opened,  and  a 
voice,  rny  father's,  as  I  supposed,  for  it  was  raining  hard,  and  1 
could  not  perfectly  distinguish,  inquired  who  was  there.  "  Don't 
you  know  the  voice  of  your  own  son  ?"  said  I.  —  "  Friend,"  replied 
the  person  at  the  window,  "  the  tavern  is  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
off,  and,  if  you  are  in  your  right  mind,  I  advise  you  to  find  your  way 
to  it."  —  The  window  was  immediately  put  down,  but  not  till  I  was 
satisfied,  that  the  voice  was  not  the  voice  of  my  father.  I  have 
heard  breakers  over  the  lee  bow,  in  a  darker  night ;  but  never  did 
the  blood  rush  so  violently  to  my  head,  as  at  that  moment.  "  My 
parents  are  dead,  then,"  said  I,  involuntarily,  as  I  placed  my  hand 
upon  my  forehead.  —  At  that  moment,  the  window  was  opened  again, 
and  I  heard  a  female  voice,  within  the  apartment,  exclaiming  in  a 
tone  of  earnestness,  "  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  he."  —  "  What  is  your 
name?"  said  the  man  at  the  window. — The  heart  of  the  patriarch 
was  not  more  full,  when  he  put  the  question  to  his  brethren,  I  am 
Joseph,  doth  my  father  yet  live?  than  mine,  when  I  put  a  similar 
inquiry,  in  relation  to  my  old  father  and  mother.  The  occupants 
were  soon  in  motion ;  and,  the  door  was  opened  by  farmer  Weeks,  a 
worthy  man,  who  proceeded  to  rake  open  the  fire,  while  his  good 
wife  began  to  prepare  some  refreshments.  They  persuaded  me  to 
remain,  till  daylight,  and  gave  me  a  particular  account  of  my  father's 
misfortunes.  I  learned  also  from  them,  that  Bobb  and  Binnacle  had 
separated,  and  that  the  latter  had  returned  to  his  old  profession. 
Farmer  Weeks  observed,  that  my  father  and  mother  bore  up,  undei 
the  loss  of  their  property,  wonderfully  well ;  but  he  admitted,  that 
some  other  troubles,  within  the  last  two  years,  had  made  a  deeper 
impression  upon  their  minds.  I  gathered  from  the  hints,  which  the 
farmer  dropped,  with  evident  reluctance,  that  their  unhappiness  was 
caused  chiefly  by  the  misconduct  of  my  brother  Absalom. 

As  soon  as  the  day  dawned,  I  proceeded  to  the  house,  in  which 
farmer  Weeks  informed  me  my  parents  had  continued  to  reside, 
since  their  removal  from  the  cottage.  As  I  drew  near,  I  observed 
a  person  coming  from  the  door,  with  a  broad  axe  over  his  shoulde  r. 
and  a  carpenter's  apron  :  his  quick  step,  for  a  moment,  deceived  me  ; 
but  a  second  glance  assured  me  of  the  truth  —  it  was  my  old  father, 
going  forth  to  his  morning's  work.  He  knew  me,  in  an  instant,  and 
dropping  his  tools  upon  the  ground,  threw  his  arms  about  my  neck, 
and  wept  like  a  child.  We  returned  together  to  the  house.  My 


1  AM   AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD1  35 

poor  mother,  who  appeared  to  have  suffered  more,  in  her  bodily 
health,  in  consequence  of  her  domestic  affliction,  was  overjoyed  at 
my  return.  Even  the  kind  people,  where  my  parents  resided, 
appeared  to  think  themselves  fairly  entitled  to  rejoice  with  those, 
who  rejoiced,  to  whom  they  had  given  the  surest  evidence  of  their 
sympathy  in  affliction. 

"  Poor  Bethiah,"  said  1,  as  soon  as  we  were  left  to  ourselves, 
"  what  is  her  situation,  and  that  of  her  husband?"—  "  Bethiah,"  said 
rny  father,  "is  the  mother  of  three  little  girls.  Her  husband,  I 
trust,  is  becoming  a  religious  man.  They  are  very  poorv  and  have 
hard  work  to  get  along  in  the  world.  But  Bethiah  says  there  nevei: 
was  a  kinder  husband.  Their  troubles  seem  to  have  attached  them 
more  closely  to  each  other."  —  "  And  Absalom,"  said  I,  "  where  is 
he?"  —  "  In  the  gall  of  bitterness  and  the  bond  of  iniquity,"  replied 
my  poor  father,  with  an  expression  of  the  deepest  affliction,  while 
my  old  mother  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  —  "  For  Heaven's 
sake,  dear  father,"  said  I,  "  what  is  the  matter,  has  he  committed 
any  crime?"  —  "  Absalom,"  said  he,  in  a  voice,  scarcely  articulate 
for  grief,  "  is  a  DRUNKARD  and  an  INFIDEL  !  While  he  continued 
with  his  sister  and  her  husband,  he  was  virtuous  and  happy.  After 
the  failure,  he  found  employment  elsewhere  ;  fell  among  evil  asso 
ciates,  and  was  ruined.  He  frequented  the  theatre,  and  other  scenes 
of  dissipation,  and  speedily  acquired  habits  of  tippling.  In  a  moment 
of  intoxication,  he  was  persuaded  to  go  to  a  meeting  of  infidels ;  their 
doctrines  were  new  to  him ;  and,  however  monstrous,  their  very 
novelty  excited  an  inte"est  in  his  mind :  he  went  again,  and  again, 
and  became  a  convert.  He  was  not  in  the  habit,  at  this  period,  of 
going  frequently  to  his  sister's  residence  ;  and  the  mischief  was 
accomplished,  before  I  had  any  knowledge  of  his  evil  courses.  At 
length,  I  received  a  letter  from  Bethiah  and  her  husband,  communi 
cating  their  fears.  I  repaired  to  the  city,  the  next  day ;  and,  arriving 
in  the  evening,  I  inquired  for  Absalom,  at  his  lodgings ;  and  was 
informed,  that  he  might  probably  be  found  at  the  lecture  room.  I 
obtained  directions,  and  repaired  to  the  spot  without  delay.  I 
entered  a  room,  in  which  was  a  collection  of  males  and  females  of 
decent  appearance,  and  took  my  seat,  in  a  retired  corner. 

"After  a  few  minutes,  I  discovered  my  misguided  son,  and  endeav 
ored,  to  keep  myself  concealed  from  his  observation.  Presently  the 
lecturer  commenced.  He  was  a  tall  man,  with  round  shoulders,  and 
very  gray  hair.  I  should  think  him  over  sixty  years  of  age  ;  his 
face  was  florid ;  his  eyes  were  contracted,  downcast,  and  expressive 
of  cunning  and  duplicity.  I  should  not  have  been  willing  to  trust 
any  man,  who  had  so  much  the  appearance  of  a  knave.  But  what 


36  I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A   GOD! 

was  my  horror,  when  this  gray-headed  castaway  threw  the  volume 
of  eternal  life  across  the  room,  arid  pronounced  God's  holy  word  no 
better  than  a  lie !  What  were  my  emotions,  when  I  beheld  this 
poor  miserable  wretch,  tottering,  as  it  were,  upon  the  brink  of  the 
grave,  abusing  the  lamp  of  reason,  by  employing  it  to  mislead  his 
fellow-creatures  to  destruction  ;  prostituting  the  highest  gift  of  God, 
to  prove,  that  there  is  no  God !  At  length  this  hoary-headed  scoun 
drel  exhausted  his  stock  of  sacrilege  and  folly,  and  resumed  his  seat. 
The  meeting  broke  up ;  and,  keeping  my  eye  upon  my  wretched 
boy,  I  followed  his  steps  into  the  street.  He  turned  into  a  dram 
shop,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  pandemonium  from  which  he  had 
so  lately  descended.  I  saw  him,  while  my  eyes  wept  tears  of 
anguish,  pour  the  accursed  poison  down  his  throat.  I  forbore  to 
interrupt  his  orgies,  in  their  present  stage  ;  I  determined,  agonizing 
as  it  might  be  to  a  father's  heart,  to  observe  his  progress.  In  a 
short  time,  he  sallied  forth ;  and  again  I  followed  his  steps. 

"  After  winding  through  several  streets,  he  associated  himself  with 
an  abandoned  woman,  who  was  strolling  purposely  alone ;  and  they 
repaired,  arm  in  arm,  to  another  dram-shop,  of  a  more  genteel  de 
scription.  They  passed  into  a  recess,  provided  with  curtains  for 
concealment.  I  stood,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  door,  and  in  a  short 
time,  I  saw  a  servant  conveying  liquors  and  refreshments  to  the 
recess,  and  closing  the  curtains,  as  he  retired.  Now,  thought  I,  is 
my  time ;  — I  passed  into  the  shop,  and,  taking  up  a  light,  proceeded 
to  the  spot,  and  drawing  back  the  curtain,  held  the  light  before  my 
face.  This  child  of  sin  was  perfectly  thunderstruck  :  at  first,  he 
attempted  to  escape  ;  but  I  held  him  firmly  by  the  arm.  His  vile 
companion,  and  a  brazen-faced  Jezebel  she  was,  had  already  fled. 
Absalom,  said  I,  as  I  relinquished  my  hold,  and  took  my  seat  before 
him,  do  you  not  believe  there  is  a  God  ?  —  No  —  was  the  reply,  in 
a  voice  of  drunken  desperation  !  —  Father  of  mercy,  I  exclaimed, 
has  it  come  to  this !  and  looking,  for  an  instant,  at  his  feverish 
face  and  bloodshot  eye,  and  contrasting  the  object  before  me 
with  the  treasured  recollections  of  my  happy  boy,  I  buried  my 
face  in  my  hands,  and  sobbed  aloud.  When  I  raised  my  head,  he 
had  gone.  Inquiries  were  repeatedly  made  at  his  boarding  house, 
but  in  vain.  It  was  solemnly  affirmed,  that  he  had  not  returned  thert;. 
[  have  never  seen  him  from  that  hour.  —  But  all  this  comes  not  from 
the  ground.  I  am  blessed  beyond  my  deserts.  Bethiah  is  happy,  in 
her  poverty  ;  and  her  husband  is  becoming  a  better  man  for  a  better 
world ;  your  dear  mother  enjoys  a  tolerable  share  of  health  ;  my  own 
health  and  strength  are  excellent,  and  I  have  enough  to  do  ;  and,  to 
crown  all,  you,  my  first-born,  are  alive  and  well,  and  safely  returned 


1  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD!  37 

to  us  again.  And  now,  as  I  see  breakfast  is  nearly  ready,  let  us 
thank  our  Heavenly  Father  for  all  his  blessings,  and  for  the  special 
Providence  of  your  return." 

Farmer  Weeks  exerted  himself  to  find  accommodations  for  hia 
family,  as  soon  as  possible ;  I  paid  off  my  father's  mortgage ,  and 
my  parents  were  speedily  restored  to  the  old  cottage.  The  tools 
were  carefully  collected,  and  replaced  in  the  carpenter's  chest ;  and 
the  sign  of  DAVID  JENNINGS,  HOUSEWRIGHT,  was  returned  once 
more  to  its  resting-place,  in  the  garret.  The  affectionate  respect 
of  the  villagers,  for  my  parents,  was  clearly  manifested,  in  the  cheer 
ful  congratulations,  and  hearty  shakes  by  the  hand,  which  met  them 
at  every  step  :  and,  when  my  father  was  in  search  of  a  horse-cart,  to 
carry  back  his  furniture,  and  the  rest  of  his  little  property,  the  neigh 
bors  gathered  round,  and  took  it,  at  once,  in  their  hands  and  upon 
their  shoulders,  and  the  whole  removal  was  accomplished  in  half  an 
hour.  Skyrocket  Enoch,  who,  with  all  his  relish  for  the  marvel 
lous,  was  the  most  amiable  mischief-maker  in  the  village,  flew,  like 
a  shuttlecock,  from  house  to  house,  breaking  looking-glasses  and 
crockery  ware,  in  the  best-natured  manner  imaginable. 

After  my  parents  had  been  resettled  on  the  homestead,  I  visited 
my  sister  and  her  husband  in  the  city.  I  found  her,  at  lodgings, 
up  three  pairs  of  stairs,  in  an  obscure  but  respectable  part  of  the 
metropolis;  and,  receiving  a  direction  to  the  first  door,  on  the  right 
hand,  on  the  upper  landing,  I  proceeded  to  find  my  way.  On  reach 
ing  the  door,  I  heard  a  voice,  which,  I  knew,  was  Bethiah's; —  I 
listened  for  a  moment ;  —  she  was  getting  one  of  her  little  ones  to 
sleep,  with  the  same  lullaby,  that  our  good  mother  had  sung  to  us 
all.  —  I  tapped  at  the  door ;  —  she  opened  it  herself;  — in  an  instant 
we  were  locKed  in  each  other's  arms. 

She  was  thin  and  pale,  but  I  did  not  perceive,  that  she  had 
ost  any  of  her  beauty.  Her  fine  light  hair,  and  bright  blue  eyes, 
and  beautiful  teeth,  for  which  she  had  always  been  remarkable,  still 
remained,  like  the  prominent  points  in  some  interesting  landscape ; 
where  the  woodcapt  hill,  and  the  winding  stream,  and  the  natural 
cascade,  are  beautiful  still,  though  the  sun  may  have  departed,  and 
the  moon  alone  may  display  them,  by  her  paler  lamp. 

"  Brother,"  said  she,  "  look  at  these,"  pointing  to  her  little  chil 
dren,  her  bright  face  covered  with  smiles  and  tears,  like  the  soft 
lightning  and  gentle  showers  of  an  August  evening,  when  the  ele 
ments  are  playing  witch-work  with  the  western  sky.  Her  first  bom 
were  twins ;  they  were  tottling  about  the  room,  and  the  baby  was 
in  the  cradle.  "  They  are  lovely  children,"  said  I,  "  but  where  is 
your  husband?"  —  "  He  is  coming  home  now,"  she  replied,  "  1  see 

VOL.  i.  4 


38  I  AM  AFRAID  THtRE  IS  A  GOD! 

aim  from  A,he  window." — I  followed  the  direction  of  her  finger,— 
I  should  not  have  known  him.  "Three  years,"  said  I,  "have 
altered  his  appearance  prodigiously."  —  "Oh,  yes,"  she  replied, 
u  we  often  laugh  over  the  recollections  of  our  foolish  dreams.  We 
have  done  with  castle-building  in  the  air ;  and  are  building,  I  tiust, 
upon  a  better  foundation.  My  husband  is  one  of  the  best  husbands  ; 
he  is  getting  to  be  one  of  the  best  Christians  also."  —  I  was  suffi 
ciently  prepared  to  meet  him  kindly,  when  he  opened  the  door. 

Everything,  which  had  characterized  his  person,  three  years 
before,  as  the  "  active  partner,  in  th'e  firm  of  Bobb  and  Binnacle^ 
had  gone  by  the  board,  as  we  sailors  say.  He  was  plainly  but 
neatly  dressed  ;  and  a  patched  boot  and  rusty  hat,  though  I  noticed 
a  better  one  for  Sunday,  hanging  in  the  corner,  indicated  an  atten 
tion  to  economy.  After  a  kind  greeting,  we  sat  down  together. 
Bethiah  spread  a  neat  cloth,  on  a  little  pine  table,  and  was  making 
preparations  for  their  frugal  meal.  —  "  Captain  Jennings,"  said  her 
husband,  a  little  of  the  old  leaven  of  pride  mantling  upon  his  cheek, 
"  I  am  afraid  we  can  give  you  nothing  better  than  a  roast  potato, 
for  dinner."  —  "Now,"  said  I,  "look  here,  if  you  give  me  any 
other  title  than  Brother  David,  I  '11  be  off,  and  I  want  nothing  bet 
ter  than  a  roast  potato,  provided  you  've  got  any  salt."  — As  I  said 
this,  I  gave  him  a  hearty  shake  by  the  hand.  —  The  tear  came  into 
his  eye.  "  Excuse  my  weakness,"  said  he,  "  but  I  have  seen  so 
much  of  the  cold  side  of  the  world  for  some  years,  that  I  am  scarcely 
prepared  for  the  other." 

We  ate  our  simple  dinner,  with  an  excellent  relish.  After  it 
was  over,  "  Now,"  said  I,  "  let  's  have  a  short  talk.  I  must  go 
back,  to-night.  I  understand  from  Bethiah,  that  you  have  settled 
with  your  creditors,  and  are  earning  about  three  or  four  hundred 
dollars  a  year,  as  a  clerk  in  a  wholesale  store.  That  will  not  do. 
Cook,  who  has  kept  store  in  the  village,  for  forty  years,  has  got  old, 
and  rich,  and  wants  to  sell  out ;  now  I  want  to  make  a  temper 
ance  store  of  it;  and,  if  you  can  be  happy  in  the  country,  and  are 
willing  to  take  it,  I  '11  buy  the  stock  and  stand  for  you  :  1  've  got 
old  Cook's  terms  and  the  refusal  in  writing." 

Nothing  could  surpass  the  satisfaction,  expressed  by  Bethiah  and 
her  husband,  at  this  proposal.  I  returned,  and  closed  the  bargain  ; 
and,  in  less  than  a  fortnight,  Mr.  Bobb  was  behind  the  counter,  in 
full  operation ;  Bethiah  was  settled  down  with  our  old  father  and 
mother,  in  the  spot  where  she  was  born ;  her  twins  were  creeping 
over  the  bank  of  violets,  at  the  back  of  the  house,  where  she  had 
crept,  when  a  child  ;  and  her  baby  was  rocking  in  the  cradle,  which 
had  been  occupied,  by  four  generations. 


I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD!  39 

The  next  Sabbath,  when  we  were  all  collected  together,  in  the 
family  pew,  there  was  a  general  expression  of  satisfaction,  on  the 
countenances  of  our  friends  and  neighbors :  and  there  were  tears  in 
many  eyes,  when  Parson  Cooley,  now  three  score  and  ten  years 
of  age,  preached  a  moving  discourse  from  that  beautiful  passage,  in 
the  thirty-seventh  psalm,  I  have  been  young,  and  now  am  old;  yet 
have  I  not  seen  the  righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  bread. 

About  two  years  after  this  happy  reunion  of  our  family,  our  excel 
lent  minister  received  a  letter,  from  a  clergyman  in  the  city,  com 
municating  information,  respecting  my  miserable  brother.  After  a 
career  of  infidelity  and  intemperance,  he  was,  as  the  writer  sup 
posed,  upon  his  death-bed,  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption.  The 
good  man,  who  sent  this  information  to  Parson  Cooley,  had  visited 
the  dying  young  man  repeatedly,  and  described  his  mind  to  be  in 
such  a  state,  that  he  desired  to  die,  but  for  the  wish  to  live,  that  he 
might  atone  for  his  transgressions.  As  family  resemblance  will 
sometimes  appear  to  be  lost,  in  a  present  generation ;  and  return, 
with  all  its  freshness,  in  that  which  succeeds ;  so  those  religious 
impressions,  which  are  made  upon  the  youthful  heart,  by  some  faith 
ful  hand,  and  of  which  no  trace  may  be  seen,  through  a  series  of 
frivolous  years,  will  sometimes  return  to  sustain  the  tottering  steps 
of  one,  who  had  been  lost  by  the  way-side ;  and  may  ultimately 
prove  the  means  of  salvation,  through  God's  boundless  mercy,  in  a 
dying  hour. 

It  was  thought  prudent  to  conceal  this  intelligence  from  my  pa 
rents,  for  the  present :  and,  agreeably  to  the  wish  he  had  expressed, 
to  see  some  of  the  family,  before  he  died,  I  immediately  set  forth 
upon  this  melancholy  embassy. 

I  reached  the  wretched  hovel,  to  which  I  had  been  directed,  as 
speedily  as  possible.  I  did  not  disclose  my  name  to  the  miserable 
object,  who  came  to  the  door,  but  simply  inquired,  if  Absalom  Jen 
nings  was  there,  and  how  he  was.  The  old  woman,  who  let  me 
in,  answered,  that  the  doctor,  whom  the  clergyman  had  sent  there, 
thought  he  could  not  live  long.  She  added,  that  the  leader  of  the 
Freethinkers  had  never  visited  him,  during  his  sickness,  which  had 
continued  several  weeks ;  but  that  several  of  the  followers  had  been 
there ;  and  that  two  of  them  were  then  up  stairs.  I  passed  up  a 
narrow  stairway,  and  arrived  at  a  little  apartment,  the  door  of  which 
was  partly  open.  I  listened,  for  a  moment,  to  the  closing  words  of 
a  conversation,  between  these  emissaries  of  Satan,  these  devils 
incarnate,  upon  earth,  and  my  dying  brother.  —  "  Well,  Jennings," 
sail  one  of  them,  "out  with  it,  what  do  you  think  now,  do  you 
Oelieve  theie  is  a  God  ?"  — I  heard  nothing  but  a  deep  groan,  which 


40  I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD! 

went  to  my  heart.  —  "  Come,"  said  the  other,  "  speak  cut ;  if  yo* 
believe  there  is  a  God,  we  won't  come  here  again."  —  "  Johnson," 
said  my  poor  brother,  in  a  voice  of  bitter  anguish,  and  in  words, 
which  were  uttered,  as  if  they  came  from  the  bottom  of  his  soul ; 
and,  I  am  sure,  they  went  to  the  bottom  of  mine,  "  I  am  afraid  there 
is  a  God!"  —  These  demons  in  human  shape  rose  to  leave  the 
apartment.  As  they  passed  near  me,  —  "Never  set  your  cloven 
feet  again,"  said  I  in  a  whisper,  "  within  the  chamber  of  this  dying 
sinner."  —  "  Why  what  business  is  it  of  yours?"  said  one  of  them 
To  avoid  confusion  in  such  a  place,  I  followed  him  quietly  down 
stairs,  and  taking  him  by  the  shoulder,  "  This  wretched  young 
man,"  said  I,  "  is  the  son  of  my  father  and  my  mother :  enter  his 
apartment  again,  and,  if  you  do  not  believe  in  God.  I  will  give  you 
good  reason  to  believe  in  man,  for  I  will  break  every  bone  in  your 
skin." 

They  walked  off,  in  evident  alarm ;  and  I  returned  to  the.  apart 
ment.  I  crept  softly  to  the  chamber.  I  saw,  upon  a  miserable 
pallet  3-  pale  emaciated  man,  whose  eyes  were  shut,  and  whose 
features  I  studied  attentively,  for  some  time,  before  I  could  discover 
enough  to  satisfy  me,  that  I  beheld  the  wreck  of  a  ruined  brother. 
Nothing  remained  of  the  full  features,  the  smooth  forehead,  the 
prominent  black  eye,  or  the  ruddy  complexion.  The  features,  and 
especially  the  nose  and  cheek  bones,  were  sharpened  in  a  remark 
able  manner ;  the  forehead  was  checkered  by  the  signet  of  prema 
ture  old  age ;  the  face  had  all  the  paleness  of  a  corpse  ;  and  the  eye, 
which  was  still  closed,  appeared  deeply  sunken  beneath  the  pro 
jecting  eyebrows.  — I  approached  closely  to  the  bed. —  "Absalom," 
said  I; — he  opened  his  eyes,  and  turned  upon  me  those  lights,  so 
soon  to  be  extinguished  in  the  grave. —  "Absalom,"  I  repeated,  "  do 
you  not  know  me  ?"  —  "Oh,  David,"  he  exclaimed.  "  is  it  you !" 
and,  covering  his  face  with  the  bed-clothes,  he  became  convulsed 
with  sorrow  "  My  poor  brother !"  said  I,  for  my  heart  yearned 
towards  him,  as  I  sat  down  beside  him,  on  the  pallet  of  straw,  and 
took  his  long,  lean  hand  in  my  own.  —  "  Oh,  David,"  said  he,  "  can 
you  love  me  now?"  and  he  drew  my  hand  to  his  parched  lips,  and 
bathed  it  in  tears. 

I  sent  for  the  physician,  who  positively  forbade  his  being  moved, 
as  I  had  wished,  into  better  lodgings.  I  therefore  made  the  best 
arrangement,  in  my  power,  for  his  comfort,  and  prepared  to  remain 
with  him,  during  the  night.  He  appeared  to  be  overwhelmed  with 
a  grateful  sense  of  this  trifling  act  of  humanity.  The  strongest 
wish  of  his  heart,  which  he  frequently  repeated,  was  the  desire  of 
•eeing  his  father,  and  asking  his  forgiveness.  I  accordingly  de- 


Alvi   AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD  4 1 

spatched  a  messenger  to  Parson  Cooley,  requesting  him  to  open  the 
matter  to  my  father,  and  come  to  the  city  with  him,  as  soon  as  he 
conveniently  could. 

They  arrived  before  noon,  on  the  following  day.  The  interview 
was  very  distressing.  My  poor  old  father  no  sooner  entered  the 
room,  than  this  wretched  young  man,  by  an  unexpected  and  extra 
ordinary  effort,  got  out  of  his  bed,  and,  upon  his  hands  and  knees, 
for  he  could  not  walk,  crawled  to  his  feet  and  exclaimed,  "  Father, 
forgive  me,  before  I  die."  My  father  was  greatly  shocked  by  his 
appearance ;  and  the  exertion  undoubtedly  shortened  the  period  of 
my  poor  brother's  existence. 

After  taking  a  little  nourishment,  he  appeared  so  much  better, 
that  I  felt  almost  inclined  to  think  he  might  recover :  but  it  was  only 
the  flashing  and  flickering  of  life's  lamp,  before  it  is  extinguished 
forever. 

During  this  interval  he  begged  his  father  and  Parson  Cooley  to 
sit  near  him.  "  Do  you  not  trace  all  your  misery  to  the  use  of 
ardent  spirit,  Absalom?"  said  the  good  minister.  —  "No  sir,  he 
replied,  "  I  never  drank  any,  till  about  eighteen  months  ago,  but  I 
became  extremely  fond  of  wine  ;  and  the  first  time,  that  I  went  to 
an  infidel  meeting,  I  was  intoxicated  with  wine,  which  I  drank 
at  the  bars  of  the  theatre.  When  I  could  no  longer  obtain  wine, 
as  the  means  of  intoxication,  I  resorted  to  ardent  spirit,  because  it 
was  cheaper ;  and  finally  the  fatal  relish  for  ardent  spirit  destroyed 
my  taste,  in  a  great  measure,  for  milder  stimulants.  Intoxication 
drove  me  to  the  brothel ;  and  the  doctrines,  taught  at  the  infidel 
meetings,  justified  my  conduct  in  going  there.  When  I  became 
conscious  of  an  oppressive  burthen,  in  the  form  of  crime,  I  was 
delighted  to  be  told,  and  to  be  convinced,  that  such  things,  as  I  had 
thought  sinful,  were  perfectly  innocent.  The  leader  of  the  infidels 
tried  to  produce  this  conviction  on  my  mind  ;  I  was  desirous  of  being 
convinced ;  and,  at  length,  I  mistook  the  desire  to  be  convinced  for 
the  conviction  itself."  —  After  a  short  pause,  he  continued  as  fol 
lows  :  "  A  man,  who  has  committed  theft,  would  be  glad  to  believe, 
that  there  was  no  judge  on  earth ;  for  then  he  could  not  be  tried 
here ;  and  a  man,  who  has  committed  all  sorts  of  crimes,  would  be 
glad  to  believe,  that  there  is  no  God  in  heaven ;  for  then  he  could  not 
be  triei  hereafter,  and  to  him  the  JUDGMENT  never  cometh.  In  my 
hours  of  intoxication  I  was  more  than  ever  disposed  to  justify  the 
doctrines  of  infidelity ;  and,  when  listening  to  lectures  upon  infi 
delity,  I  was  the  more  ready  to  justify  the  practice  of  intoxication, 
and  of  all  other  crimes.  I  believe  the  leader,  who  lectures  upon 
infidelity,  to  be  an  unprincipled  villain,  and  that  he  preaches  these 

tfOL.   I.  4* 


42  I  AM  AFRAID  THERE  IS  A  GOD! 

doctrines,  because  they  are  so  much  more  comforting  to  a  hoary 
headed  impenitent  wretch,  than  the  doctrines  of  the  cross.     May 
God  of  his  infinite  goodness  forgive  me  my  offences,  and  an  aban 
doned  and  profligate  old  man  for  leading  me  to  destruction." 

The  whole  of  his  physical  and  intellectual  power  appeared  to  be 
exhausted,  by  this  last  effort.  He  dropped  his  head  on  one  side, 
and  there  followed  a  slight  convulsion.  —  I  went  instantly  to  his 
bedside ;  his  eyes  were  glazed  ;  —  he  was  fast  locked  in  the  \rrns  of 
death ;  — the  spirit  of  the  penitent  infidel  had  fled. 

Our  good  minister  supported  my  old  father  from  the  apartment. 
By  my  advice,  they  returned  immediately  home.  In  due  time,  the 
earth  received  its  tribute  ;  and  I  returned  to  the  village. 

It  was  a  remarkable  coincidence,  that  on  the  very  next  Sabbath, 
in  reading  the  Scriptures,  Parson  Cooley  opened  to  the  eighteenth 
chapter  of  the  second  book  of  Samuel ;  and  when  he  pronounced  the 
words  of  David's  lamentation,  in  the  concluding  verse,  "  Oh,  my 
son,  Absalom,  my  son,"  the  good  old  clergyman  could  scarcely 
speak  for  his  emotion. 

Time,  though  it  cannot  obliterate  the  recollection  of  such  misery 
as  this,  has  already  mitigated  our  affliction.  —  My  parents  are  still 
living,  at  a  good  old  age.  Their  chief  employment  is  a  cheerful 
preparation  for  death.  My  sister  and  her  husband,  with  their  flock 
of  little  ones,  are  prosperous  and  happy. 

I  sometimes  encounter  an  individual,  perhaps  the  member  of  some 
temperance  society,  who  scrupulously  abstains  from  ardent  spirit, 
under  its  specific  name  ;  but  who  is  eminently  qualified,  not  only  for 
the  commission  of  folly,  but  for  the  perpetration  of  crime,  by  the 
employment  of  some  milder  stimulant :  upon  such  occasions,  the 
declaration  of  my  unhappy  brother,  on  his  death-bed,  comes  forcibly 
before  me ;  the  use  of  wine  alone  brought  him  to  infidelity  and  ruin  ! 

I  never  meet  an  individual,  who  does  not  believe,  that  there  is  a 
God,  but  who  cannot,  by  any  human  possibility,  know  that  there  is 
not,  without  a  vivid  and  painful  recollection  of  the  life  and  death  of 
this  wretched  young  man.  The  dying  words  of  a  poor  penitent 
Infidel,  can  never  be  forgotten,  "  I  am  afraid  there  is  a  God'" 


A  SECTARIAN  THING. 


Whenever  an  able  advocate  resorts  to  a  variety  of  weak  and  frivolous  argurr,  tnts,  in  support  of  fit* 
Mr*  cause,  it  may  be  safely  concluded,  that  the  cause  is  unsound,  and  that  he  knows  it  to  be  so. 

The  venders  of  ardent  spirit,  throughout  the  world,  even  at  the  present  auspicious  era  of  the  t»m- 
patance  reform,  are  a  numerous,  powerful,  and  vigilant  body  of  men  ;  wise,  in  their  generation,  to 
perfection.  If  the  traffic  in  spirituous  liquor  could  be  defended,  by  the  ingenuity  of  man,  it  ii  rea- 
«nnal>le  to  believe,  that,  among-  the  multitude,  an  advocate,  sufficient  for  the  work,  would  lifl  up 
his  voice  in  its  defence. 

The  respectability  of  those,  who  denounce  the  traffic,  as  IMMORAL,  entitles  their  opinions,  pub 
licly  and  formally  delivered  before  the  world,  to  the  most  careful  consideration  of  the  whole  human 
family.  The  purity  of  their  motives  is  beyond  suspicion.  The  universality  of  their  character  is 
obvnuis :  they  come  from  all  quarters  of  the  world,  and  lay  aside,  as  thej  approach  this  great  com 
mon  Geld  of  philanthropy,  the  discriminating  badges  of  their  various  professions,  and  political  opii- 
ions,  and  religious  creeds.  However  unable  to  agree,  upon  other  matters,  they  heartily  concur  in  the 
opin.on,  and  they  solemnly  pronounce  that  opinion,  that  the  use  of  ardent  spirit  as  a  drink  and  the 
trajic  therein  are  morally  wrong,  and  ought  to  be  abandoned  through  the  world.  This  opinion  has 
been  repeated  again  and  again  ;  by  the  Congressional  convention;  —  by  the  great  convention,  at 
Philadelphia,  from  all  the  states;  —  by  the  highly  respectable  convention  at  Worcester; — by  th« 
New  York  state  convention,  at  Utica  ;  —  and,  more  recently,  by  the  convention  in  the  state  of  Con 
necticut.  Many  of  the  most  eminent  men,  of  this  and  other  countries,  have  been  forward  to  promul 
gate  and  sustain  this  formal  declaration.  The  reasons,  on  which  it  rests,  have  been  scattered  abroad 
upon  the  earth,  like  the  leaves  of  the  trees.  They  have  fallen  upon  every  dwelling,  like  the 
drops  of  rain.  Journals,  magazines,  circulars,  reports,  tracts,  tales,  full  of  information  and  interest 
ing:  narrative,  have  been  distributed  with  an  unsparing  hand. 

What  then,  in  the  shape  of  an  argument,  do  the  venders  of  spirituous  liquors  propose,  in  justifi 
cation  of  their  continued  traffic?  — Absolutely  nothing.  — For  a  time,  it  was  undoubtedly  believed  by 
many,  that  the  temperance  reform  would  pass  away,  like  a  vapor.  Under  this  belief,  the  voice  of 
worldly  wisdom  whispered  to  the  venders,  that  thei*  strength  lay  in  silence  and  perfect  inaction. — 
The  continual  accession  of  strength,  to  the  side  of  temperance,  and  the  daily  diminishing  demand 
for  the  drunkard's  bevera 
occai 
i. 

friei 

spirit,  should  look  with  regret  upon  the  efforts  of  those,  who  were  combining  to  persuade  the  world  not 
to  drink  it  any  more.  But  the  friends  of  temperance  were  not  likely  to  be  diverted  fromacourse,  upon 
which  the  Father  of  Mercy  might  be  supposed  to  vouchsafe  a  smile  of  approbation,  because  the  vend 
ers  of  strong  diink  looked  upon  that  very  course,  through  the  dust  of  self-interest,  with  "deep 
regret.11 

When  no  argument  can  be  found  to  sustain  a  practice,  —  and  such  is  not  a  very  wonderful  condition 
of  things,  if  the  practice  be  morally  wrong,  —  the  most  common  course  is  to  impugn  the  motives  of 
those,  who  combine  to  oppose  that  practice.  Accordingly,  however  preposterous  the  allegation  may 

our  declaration  of  rights,  no  denomination  of  Christians  can  be  subordinate,  in  'law,  to  another  ; 
where  no  religious  faith  can  rise  and  reign,  as  the  religion  of  the  land,  what  is  a  sectarian  thing"* 


THERE  is  a  beautiful  river,  tfpon  whose  unfrequented  shores  I 
have  often  strolled,  when  a  schoolboy.  Upon  a  Saturday  after 
noon,  when  it  was  too  hot  for  the  fish  to  bite,  and  not  even  the 
attraction  of  a  fine  young  frog  would  draw  out  the  motionless  pick 
erel  from  his' co vert,  under  the  lily-pad  leaf;  how  often  have  I  laid 
at  length,  upon  that  river's  bank,  listening  to  the  wind,  soughing 
through  the  tall  pines.  This  scene  of  my  early  recollections  was 
then  the  very  empire  of  stillness,  undisturbed,  save,  now  and  then, 
by  the  clarion  throats  of  two  or  three  colloquial  crows,  perched  upon 
the  topmost  branches ;  or  the  splash  of  a  solitary  kingfisher,  the 
halcyon  of  the  rivers  and  lakes.  —  But  it  has  passed  like  a  vision. 
—I  know  nothing  so  closely  resembling  the  operation  of  the  finger 


44  A  SECTARIAN  THING. 

»f  magic,  as  the  change,  which  has  been  wrought,  in  these  seques 
tered  shades.  Upon  this  lonely  spot,  then  unmarked  by  the  finger 
of  man,  now  not  a  vestige  of  nature  remains.  Even  the  river  has 
been  diverted  from  its  course ;  and  its  bright  waters,  which  i*sed 
to  glide  so  delightfully  along,  have  been  restrained  by  barriers 
and  converted  into  artificial  cascades.  The  tall  pines  have  been 
brought  low ;  the  crow,  and  the  kingfisher,  and  the  hill  fox  have 
been  driven  into  deeper  recesses,  by  the  progress  of  civilization,  like 
the  pursued  and  persecuted  red  man  ;  and  the  soughing  of  the  winds 
and  the  carolling  of  the  birds,  in  a  May  morning,  have  given  place 
to  the  roar  of  waterfalls,  the  ringing  of  bells,  and  tne  noise  of 
machinery.  The  clear  and  aromatic  atmosphere  of  the  pine-lands  is 
filled  with  the  smokes  of  a  thousand  fires,  and  rendered  almost 
unbreathable,  by  its  commixture  with  poisonous  vapors.  Even  the 
waters  are  unnaturally  tinged  with  a  variety  of  dyes,  and  rendered 
unsafe  for  the  use  of  man.  In  a  word,  this  romantic  spot  is  now 
the  scene  of  a  great  manufacturing  establishment.  It  is  the  nucleus, 
around  which  there  has  gathered  a  surprising  alluvion  of  population 
and  wealth.  It  bears  the  name  of  Clatterville ;  and,  among  its 
inhabitants,  there  is  not  a  more  thriving,  driving  little  man,  than  Mr 
Aminaclab  Sharp. 

This  individual,  who  was  one  of  the  most  successful  merchants  in 
Clatterville,  had  been  well  known  in  the  western  country,  as  Cap 
tain  Sharp.  But  I  have  never  been  able  to  find  the  origin  of  this 
title  of  distinction,  unless  in  the  fact,  that,  for  several  years  after  he 
went  thither  from  New  England,  he  was  the  sole  owner  and  com 
mander  of  one  of  those  little  square  covered  boats,  which  are  fre 
quently  seen,  on  the  Mississippi,  and  known  by  the  name  of  pedlers' 
arks ;  and  which  are  commonly  furnished  with  every  variety  of 
notion,  from  a  tin  cullender  to  a  silk  glove.  We  have  nothing  to 
do,  however,  with  the  early  history  of  Mr.  Sharp.  He  had  become 
a  man  of  handsome  estate ;  owned  the  square  brick  house  in  which 
he  lived;  and  was  married  to  a  very  respectable  woman,  who, 
though  she  had  no  pretensions  to  beauty,  belonged  to  that  denomi 
nation  of  human  beings,  who  are  very  appropriately  called  the  salt 
of  the  earth.  They  had  only  one  child,  a  boy  of  fair  promise,  and 
who  received  the  name  of  his  father.  At  this  time,  little  Amina- 
dab  was  four  years  old,  and  uncommonly  forward  for  his  time.  Mrs. 
Sharp  was  esteemed,  on  all  hands,  a  truly  pious  and  excellent  wo 
man  ;  and  nathing  would  put  her  husband  into  such  a  violent  pas 
sion,  as  a  suggestion  from  any  quarter,  that  he  himself  was  deficient 
in  any  of  the  Christian  graces.  He  had  subscribed  most  liberally  in 
behalf  of  the  new  church ;  Parson  Moody  dined  at  his  house,  every 


A  SECTARIAN  THING.  45 

Saturday,  with  all  the  punctuality  of  an  eight  day  jlock ;  the  cler 
gymen  from  all  quarters  made  his  house  their  home,  whenever  they 
exchanged  with  Parson  Moody;  and,  besides,  he  had  paid  three 
fourths  of  the  cost  of  the  new  organ.  Mrs.  Sharp  was  a  judicious 
woman,  and  comprehended  her  husband's  character  to  perfection. 
Her  words  were  all  good  words,  in  proper  season.  Occasionally  sho 
would  place  some  useful  book  in  his  way ;  but  she  was  too  weL 
acquainted  with  the  infirmities  of  his  temper,  to  attempt  to  argue 
with  him,  on  the  subject  of  religion.  She  prayed  for  him  in  secret, 
with  all  the  ferv<  ncy  of  an  affectionate  wife,  that  religion,  pure  and  • 
undefiled,  might  spring  up  in  his  heart.  Nevertheless,  there  was 
a  subject,  upon  which  she  felt  herself  conscientiously  impelled  to 
argue  strenuously  against  the  opinions  of  her  husband :  the  educa 
tion  and  general  management  of  little  Aminadab  were  an  everlasting 
source  of  painful  disagreement  between  them.  Mrs.  Sharp,  upon 
this  interesting  theme,  reasoned  with  great  calmness,  until  the  period 
arrived,  and  it  invariably  did  arrive,  when  her  husband  would  listen 
to  reason  no  longer.  She  was  particularly  desirous  that  Aminadab 
should  profit  by  attending  the  Sunday  school.  This  her  husband 
opposed  with  great  earnestness.  "  Look  at  me,"  said  he,  "I've 
got  on  thus  far  pretty  well.  I  've  never  been  to  a  Sunday  school. 
I  '11  never  agree  to  it ;  and,  sooner  or  later,  you  '11  find  my  words  to 
be  true.  It 's  all  a  sectarian  thing."  Mr.  Sharp  promised  his  wife, 
that,  if  Heaven  should  be  pleased  to  grant  them  another  child,  male 
or  female,  it  should  be  entirely  under  her  direction ;  but  he  insisted 
on  the  privilege  of  rearing  their  first  born,  Aminadab,  according  to 
his  own  notions  of  propriety.  In  little  more  than  a  year,  Mrs. 
Sharp  became  the  mother  of  another  boy.  She  reminded  her  hus 
band  of  his  agreement,  almost  as  soon  as  she  heard  its  life-cry ;  and 
in  the  joy  of  his  heart,  he  solemnly  ratified  the  engagement,  con- 
ceding,  in  all  things,  to  her  wishes,  even  in  the  matter  of  baptism 
Little  Aminadab  had  never  been  baptized,  for,  as  Mr.  Sharp  justly 
observed,  he  had  never  been  baptized  himself,  and  he  never  meant 
to  be ;  but  he  had  gotten  on  pretty  well  in  the  world :  indeed  he 
looked  upon  every  kind  of  baptism,  as  a  sectarian  thing.  Little 
Joel,  for  that  was  the  name,  chosen  by  Mrs.  Sharp,  in  honor  of  her 
father,  was,  in  due  time,  given  to  the  Lord  in  baptism. 

It  was  a  favorite  notion  with  Mr.  Sharp,  that  boys  were  put  to 
their  learning,  at  much  too  early  a  period.  Aminadab  was  permitted 
to  run  at  large,  until  he  was  eight  years  old.  At  length,  by  the 
earnest  persuasion  of  Mrs.  Sharp,  her  husband  was  prevailed  on  to 
commit  him  to  the  care  of  Ma'am  Wilkins,  who  was  accordingly 
sent  for  to  the  house ;  and,  in  the  presence  of  her  intended  charge, 


46  A  SECTARIAN  THING. 

received  particular  instructions  never  to  break  the  little  fellow's  spirit, 
by  the  application  of  the  rod.  "If  study  should  not  agree  with 
huii,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  let  him  do  as  he  pleases,  pretty  nmeh. 
Leave  the  matter  to  nature,  which  is  the  true  guide,  after  all.  I  've 
gotten  on  pretty  well  in  the  world,  as  you  see,  Ma'am  Wilkins,  and 
I  was  left  pretty  much  to  myself.  Making  boys  study  against  their 
wills  is  going  against  nature,  and  this  newfangled  business  of  whip 
ping  children,  in  my  opinion,  is  nothing  but  a  sectarian  thing.'1'' 
Ma'am  Wilkins  was  too  discreet,  to  permit  an  exhibition  of  her  own 
notions  of  discipline  to  disturb  the  happy  relation,  subsisting  between 
herself  and  so  important  a  man  as  Mr.  Sharp.  She  accordingly 
patted  Aminadab  on  the  head,  and  expressed  the  high  satisfaction 
sne  enjoyed,  in  the  prospect  of  becoming  his  instructress.  As  she 
rose  to  take  her  departure,  it  was  a  wonder,  that  she  did  not  throw 
the  whole  tea  service  down  upon  the  floor ;  for  Aminadab  had  con 
trived  to  pin  the  table-cloth  to  her  gown ;  and,  as  it  was,  she  went  off 
with  a  large  yellow  marigold  in  her  bonnet,  which  was  not  noticed, 
by  Mrs.  Sharp,  till  Ma'am  Wilkins  was  half  across  the  common. 
Every  judicious  parent  will  agree,  that  Aminadab  was  richly  enti 
tled  to  a  smart  whipping,  or  an  equivalent  in  some  other  form 
"  The  boy  will  be  ruined,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  "  if  he  goes  unpun 
ished  for  this."  "  Let  him  alone,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband,  who 
sat,  shaking  his  sides  with  laughter,  "  it  is  only  another  evidence 
of  his  genius.  Such  a  child  requires  but  little  teaching.  He  '11 
be  a  self-made  man,  mark  my  words.  I  used  to  cut  such  capers 
myself,  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  yet  you  see,  my  dear,  I  've  gotten 
along  pretty  well  in  the  world." 

Ma'am  Wilkins  had  not  much  reason  to  flatter  herself  upon  the 
acquisition  of  a  new  pupil  in  the  person  of  Master  Aminadab  Sharp 
The  incident  of  the  table-cloth  was  an  inauspicious  omen  ;  and  the 
discovery,  which  was  not  made  till  she  reached  her  home,  tha 
she  had  been  parading  upon  Clatterville  common,  with  a  large  yel 
low  marigold  in  the  back  of  her  bonnet,  afforded  no  very  favorably 
prognostic. 

The  missionary  cause  had  become  a  subject  of  very  considerable 
interest  with  the  more  serious  people  of  the  village  ;  and  Mrs. 
Sharp  was  particularly  desirous  of  promoting  its  welfare.  Unfor 
tunately  her  husband  had  formed  an  opinion  against  it.  "  What  is 
the  use,"  said  he,  "  of  wasting  money  upon  people,  whom  we  don't 
know  and  don't  care  for,  at  the  other  end  of  the  world  ?"  —  "  They 
are  our  fellow-creatures,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  "  they  have  souls  to  be 
saved,  and  we  can  send  them  Bibles  and  missionaries,  which  may 
prove  the  means  of  salvation."  —  "  Charity  begins  at  home,"  ha 


A  SECTARIAN  THING.  47 

replied.  —  "  Well,  my  dear,"  she  rejoined,  "  there  are  home  mis 
sions,  to  which  your  charity  will  be  directed,  if  you  prefer  it."  — 
"  I  don't  prefe*  anything  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Sharp.  "  I  've  stud 
ied  the  subject  to  the  bottom ;  mark  my  words,  if  it  don't  turn  oul 
a  sectarian  thing." 

In  a  fortnight,  Ma'am  Wilkins  became  entirely  satisfied,  that  she 
must  give  up  the  school  in  Clatterville  or  Aminadab  Sharp.  Ha 
was  not  only  a  privileged  character,  but,  being  conscious  of  his  own 
impunity  for  all  his  offences,  he  did  precisely  as  he  pleased;  he 
encouraged  the  bad  boys,  and  terrified  the  good  ones,  until  he  became, 
to  the  very  letter,  a  praise  to  evil-doers,  and  a  terror  to  those  that 
did  well.  She  addressed  a  respectful  note  to  Mr.  Sharp,  informing 
him,  that  she  could  no  longer  be  mistress,  while  Aminadab  was 
master.  Aminadab  was  accordingly  withdrawn,  Mr.  Sharp  being 
perfectly  satisfied,  that  the  school  was  altogether  below  the  level 
of  the  boy's  capacity.  After  a  twelvemonth  of  idleness,  he  was 
sent  to  the  public  school. 

It  was  about  this  period,  if  I  remember  rightly,  that  Mrs.  Sharj 
became  greatly  interested  in  the  success  of  an  auxiliary  Bible  soci 
ety,  in  which  several  of  her  respectable  friends  were  earnestly 
engaged.  She  desired  the  pecuniary  aid  of  her  husband.  —  "  Not 
a  cent,"  said  Mr.  Sharp  ;  "  I  know  just  how  this  thing  was  gotten 
up  ;  I  know  who  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all ;  it 's  a  sectarian  thing." 

Little  Joel,  in  all  his  early  indications  of  character,  presented  the 
closest  resemblance  to  his  elder  brother.  He  was  a  sprightly  and 
rather  a  mischievous  child,  but  docile,  good-tempered,  and  manage- 
"ble.  Mrs.  Sharp  availed  herself  of  all  her  vested  rights,  by  virtue 
of  the  compact  with  her  husband,  to  bring  up  little  Joel,  in  the  way 
he  should  go.  She  watched  over  him  with  unabating  solicitude. 
From  his  earliest  years  she  had  taught  and  accustomed  him  to 
prayer ;  and  he  had  now  attained  an  age,  when  she  conceived  it  to 
be  proper  to  urge  her  husband  to  establish  the  practice  of  family 
devotion.  "  Wife,"  said  he,  "  you  and  Joel  may  pray  as  much  as 
you  have  a  mind  to.  As  for  myself,  though  the  thing  may  be  well 
enough  in  itself,  I  '11  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  It 's  a  sectarian 
thing."  Accordingly  Mrs.  Sharp  was  in  the  habit,  morning  and 
evening,  of  taking  little  Joel  into  her  closet,  and  offering  up  their 
prayers  and  thanksgivings  to  Almighty  God. 

The  most  excellent  maxims,  like  the  sharpest  tools,  are  capable 
of  incalculable  mischief,  unskilfully  employed.  The  accession  of 
unexpected  wealth,  the  opportunity  for  indulging  in  any  of  the  luxu 
ries  of  life  long  withheld  and  suddenly  presented,  are  frequently 
followed  by  3onsequences  of  the  most  ruii  ous  character.  Mr.  Shar}. 


48  A  SECTARIAN  THING. 

was  perfectly  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  this  position ;  but  how  strange 
an  application  he  made  of  the  principle,  when  he  gave  ardent  spirits 
to  little  Aminadab,  to  accustom  the  child  to  their  gradual  employ 
ment,  and  as  the  means  of  preserving  him  from  habits  of  intemper 
ance.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  state,  that  he  looked  up  in  the 
whole  temperance  reformation  as  a  sectarian  thing.  He  was  singu 
larly  irritable,  whenever  the  subject  was  introduced,  and  has  been 
heard  to  affirm,  with  great  violence  of  manner,  that  he  would  sooner 
cut  off  his  right  hand,  than  employ  it  in  signing  a  temperance 
pledge.  Parson  Moody,  who  was  a  highly  respectable  Unitarian 
clergyman,  had  been  earnestly  requested,  by  Mrs.  Sharp,  to  con 
verse  with  her  husband  on  the  subject ;  for  she  had  lately  become 
somewhat  alarmed  at  his  daily  and  increasing  indulgence.  Parson 
Moody  was  a  consistent  advocate  of  the  temperance  cause.  He  had 
resolved,  before  God,  to  abstain  from  the  use  of  spirit,  and  he  had 
no  scruples  against  giving  an  outward  and  visible  sign  of  that  reso 
lution,  before  man.  He  had  therefore  signed  the  pledge  of  the  tem 
perance  society.  He  was  not  of  that  number,  who  strain  at  the  gnat, 
after  having  swallowed  and  digested  every  inch  of  the  camel.  To 
be  sure,  among  his  parishioners,  there  were  two  wealthy  distillers 
and  several  influential  grocers  and  retailers ;  but  there  were  few 
clergymen,  less  likely  to  be  diverted  from  the  performance  of  any 
duty,  by  the  fear  of  man.  There  was  not  an  individual  in  the  vil 
lage,  beside  himself,  who  would  have  ventured,  in  the  hearing  of 
Mr.  Sharp,  to  speak  openly  and  decidedly  in  favor  of  the  temper 
ance  reform.  An  occasion  soon  arose,  which  produced  a  discussion 
of  considerable  interest,  between  Mr.  Sharp  and  his  worthy  minis 
ter. —  "Good  morning,  my  friend,"  said  Parson  Moody,  as  he 
entered  the  merchant's  parlor,  at  an  unusually  early  hour,  for  a 
morning  visit.  Mr.  Sharp  returned  the  salutation,  with  his  usual 
kindness  of  manner,  for  he  had  a  high  respect  and  esteem  for  the 
good  clergyman.  After  he  had  been  seated  for  a  short  time,  Mr. 
Sharp,  attracted  by  the  uncommon  solemnity  of  his  manner,  inter 
rupted  the  silence,  by  inquiring  after  the  news  of  the  morning. 
"It  is  not  an  agreeable  office  to  be  the  bearer  of  bad  news,"  the 
good  man  replied.  —  "  Dear  sir,"  exclaimed  the  affrighted  merchant, 
rising  suddenly  from  his  seat,  and  seizing  the  minister  by  the  hand, 
"has  any  accident  happened  to  the  factories'?"  —  "None  that  I 
heave  heard  of."  —  "  You  relieve  me  of  my  anxiety,"  rejoined  the 
merchant.  —  "And  yet,"  continued  his  reverend  friend,  "  you  never 
had  greater  cause  for  anxiety,  in  your  whole  life.  I  have  come  here 
to  discharge  a  duty,  and  to  inform  you,  that,  unless  a  remedy  can  be 
thought  of,  and  immediately  applied,  your  son  Aminadab  will  become 


A  SECTARIAN  THING.  49 

a  drunkard ! "  —  "  Gracious  Heaven  ! "  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  what  can 
you  mean  ?  My  son  a  drunkard !  1  would  rather  follow  him  to  hi» 
grave."  —  "  I  know  you  would,"  the  clergyman  replied,  "  and  I  have 
no  doubt,  that  the  consequence,  which  I  solemnly  predict,  appears 
altogether  improbable  to  you.  But  permit  me  to  ask  you,  my  friend, 
are  you  ignorant  that  your  boy  drinks  ardent  spirit?"  —  "  My  dear 
sir,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  I  have  given  him  a  little,  now  and  then,  from 
his  childhood,  that  lie  might  become  familiarized  to  the  use  of  it ;  and 
lest,  if  I  kept  it  from  him,  he  mi£ht  hanker  after  it;  and,  when  he 
became  his  own  man,  fall  into  bad  habits."  —  "  My  good  friend," 
returned  the  clergyman,  "  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  sensible  physician, 
who  proposed  to  familiarize  his  patients  with  the  cholera  or  yellow 
fever,  by  inoculatingthem  a  little  ?"  —  "  But  the  cholera  and  the  yel 
low  fever,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  are  fatal  diseases,  and  drinking  ardent 
spirit  is  by  no  means  always  fatal."  —  "  Nay,  my  friend,"  the  minis 
ter  rejoined,  "  those  diseases  are  not  always  fatal,  and  inoculation, 
with  the  matter  of  either,  is,  in  no  respect,  more  unnecessary  than 
drinking  ardent  spirit ;  which  may,  with  perfect  propriety,  be  called 
inoculation  for  intemperance.  Some  men  will  take  the  distemper, 
and  others  will  not.  Some  will  escape  premature  death,  and  do 
worse,  by  living  on,  a  burthen  to  themselves  and  their  friends.  Four 
fifths  of  all  crime  and  nine  tenths  of  all  domestic  wretchedness  are 
believed  to  arise  from  the  use  of  ardent  spirit." — "Be  this  as  it 
may,"  Mr.  Sharp  replied,  "  I  keep  a  good  watch  on  my  boy,  and 
nobody  ever  saw  him  the  worse  for  liquor."  —  "  You  deceive  your 
self,  my  friend,"  said  Parson  Moody,  "  this  very  last  night  he  stole 
out  of  your  back  door,  no  doubt  after  you  and  your  family  were  in 
bed,  and  in  the  society  of  some  of  the  most  abandoned  boys,  in  the 
village,  was  found  intoxicated,  at  a  dram  shop  in  Tinker's  Alley." 
When  the  evidence  and  statements  of  the  good  clergyman  had 
removed  every  doubt  of  the  fact  from  the  mind  of  Mr.  Sharp,  he 
appeared  to  suffer  the  deepest  distress,  but  expressed  his  determina 
tion  to  inflict  severe  personal  chastisement  upon  Aminadab.  —  "  My 
afflicted  friend,"  said  Parson  Moody,  taking  the  hand  of  his  parish 
ioner,  "  will  such  a  course  be  even-handed  justice  ?  Your  child  has, 
without  doubt,  been  misled.  Ought  not  the  weight  of  your  dis- 
pVasure  to  fall  upon  the  author  of  this  deplorable  mischief?"  — 
"  Undoubtedly,"  replied  the  agonized  father ;  "  have  you  any  suspi- 
c'.on,  reverend  sir,  which  may  lead  to  his  detection?"  This  faithful 
counsellor,  still  holding  him  by  the  hand,  replied,  with  an  expres 
sion  of  mingled  pity  and  severity  —  "And  Nathan  said  unto  David 
Thou  art  the  man  I "  —  The  miserable  father  bowed  down  his  head 
and  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

TOL.    I.  5 


50  A  SECTARIAN  THING. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  image  was  fairly  and  faithfully 
before  him  of  all  the  horrible  consequences  of  his  own  unaccountable 
improvidence  and  folly.  He  had  himself  escaped,  thus  far,  the 
shame  and  sin  of  habitual  intoxication ;  and  he  had  counted,  with 
perfect  confidence,  upon  the  same  good  fortune  for  his  child.  H* 
had  admitted  into  the  calculation  no  allowance  for  differenco  of  mora- 
power  or  physical  temperament,  to  resist  the  destructive  influence 
of  ardent  spirit ;  nor  for  the  different  kinds  and  degrees  of  temptatio* 
to  which  they  might  respectively  be  liable  ;  nor  for  the  fact,  that  hr 
himself  had  commenced,  at  the  age  of  manhood,  and  that  the  experi 
ment  was  begun  with  Aminadab,  when  a  child. 

Mr.  Sharp  was  in  the  condition  of  a  man,  who  had  disregarded 
the  symptoms  of  some  fatal  disease,  the  knowledge  of  whose  exist 
ence  had  cast  an  air  of  solemnity  over  the  countenance  of  ever} 
friend  ;  while  the  sufferer  himself,  utterly  unconscious  how  soon  the 
lease  of  life  would  expire,  sported  with  the  flimsy  remnant  of  exist 
ence,  as  if  it  were  only  the  beginning.  What  are  the  sensations  of 
such  an  individual,  when  the  physician  reveals  to  him  the  fatal 
secret,  or  the  first  gush  of  blood  from  the  lungs  summons  the  mis 
erable  pilgrim  to  put  his  house  in  order !  Such  were  the  feelings 
of  this  unhappy  parent,  when  he  first  began  to  realize,  that  he  might 
yet  live  to  commit  the  bone  of  his  bone  and  the  flesh  of  his  flesh,  his 
first  born  and  favorite  child,  to  the  drunkard's  grave. 

His  grief  completely  overwhelmed  him.  —  "  I  can  pity  you,  and 
weep  for  you,  my  poor  friend,"  said  the  benevolent  pastor,  as  the 
tears  came  into  his  eyes.  —  "Ah,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  unhappy 
father,  * '  you  know  not  how  often  and  how  earnestly  I  have  set 
before  this  boy  of  mine  the  hateful  picture  of  a  drunkard.  It  is  true 
I  have  indulged  him,  in  the  temperate  use  of  a  little  spirit,  now  and 
then,  for  the  reasons  I  have  mentioned  ;  but  I  have  always  cautioned 
him  to  be  careful  in  the  use  of  it.  Alas,  my  dear  sir,  I  now  see 
that  I  have  committed  a  sad  mistake.  But  what  is  to  be  done  to 
save  my  poor  child  from  destruction?"  —  "That,"  Parson  Moody 
replied,  "  is  not  only  a  most  important,  but,  I  fear,  a  most  difficult 
question.  Prevention  is  a  simple  thing ;  remedy  is  often  a  very 
complicated  and  uncertain  process.  You  have  certainly-,  as  you 
say,  crmmitted  a  sad  mistake.  If  the  paths  of  intemperance  are 
indeed  the  gates  of  hell  and  the  chambers  of  death,  you  have  acted 
rashly,  my  unhappy  friend,  in  permitting  your  son  to  enter  even  but 
a  little  way.  To  be  sure,  you  have  cautioned  him  not  to  become  a 
drunkard,  but  have  you  not  pushed  your  child  a  little  way  over  a 
terrible  precipice,  while  you  raised  your  warning  voice  to  save  him 
from  falling  into  the  gulf  below  ?  Have  you  not  encouraged  him  to 


A  SECTARIAN  THING  5. 

set  fire  to  a  powder  magazine,  and  cautioned  him  to  burn  but  a  verf 
little?  I  would  not  harrow  up  your  feelings ;  but  you  have  anothel 
son  ;  —  your  responsibilities  to  God  are  very  great ;  and  so  are  mine, 
as  your  spiritual  guide.  It  is  possible  I  have  already  neglected  my 
duty,  in  withholding  that  counsel,  which  I  now  earnestly  givs  you, 
as  a  friend,  and  as  a  minister  of  the  gospel ;  — for  the  sake  of  your 
poor  children,  for  the  sake  of  society,  for  your  own  sake,  my  dear 
sir,  I  conjure  you  to  abandon  the  use  of  ardent  spirit,  in  all  its 
forms." 

During  this  solemn  and  touching  appeal,  Mr.  Sharp  had  paced 
the  room  in  great  agitation  of  mind :  at  its  conclusion,  he  grasped 
the  hand  of  his  reverend  friend,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  voice,  inarticu 
late  for  grief — "  Not  a  drop,  my  worthy  friend,  not  a  drop  shall 
enter  my  habitation,  nor  pass  my  lip,  from  this,  the  most  miserable 
hour  of  my  life."  —  "  Amen,"  said  the  holy  man,  "  and  may  God 
grant  it  may  be  the  most  profitable  hour  of  your  existence." 

After  a  short  pause,  "  I  hope,"  said  Parson  Moody,  "  to  see  the 
day,  when  you  will  be  one  of  the  most  active  and  influential  mem 
bers  of  our  temperance  society."  —  "In  regard  to  that,"  replied  Mr. 
Sharp,  "  I  can  give  you  no  encouragement,  whatever.  I  have 
thought  upon  the  subject  and  read  some  of  their  books,  but  I  have 
come  to  the  conclusion,  that  this  temperance  reformation,  as  they 
call  it,  is  nothing  but  a  sectarian  thing."  —  "  And  pray,  my  worthy 
friend,"  said  the  minister,  with  a  smile,  in  which  solemnity  and 
sorrow  prevailed,  "  what  do  you  understand  by  a  sectarian  thing  T 
—  "A  sectarian  thing V  said  Mr.  Sharp;  "  why  I  consider  a  sec 
tarian  thing  to  be  a  —  I  don't  know  that  I  can  exactly  explain  my 
meaning,  but  a  sectarian  thing  is,  I  suppose,  a  — ."  "  Well,  well," 
said  Parson  Moody,  looking  at  his  watch,  "  I  perceive  I  have 
already  overstaid  an  engagement.  I  will  call  this  afternoon,  for  the 
purpose  of  continuing  our  conversation."  —  He  took  Mr.  Sharp 
affectionately  by  the  hand,  and  departed ;  leaving  him  in  perfect 
astonishment  at  his  own  entire  ignorance  of  a  term,  which  he  had 
so  frequently  and  so  confidently  employed. 

The  petty  mortification,  arising  from  this  circumstance,  was  im 
mediately  lost  in  the  contemplation  of  that  deep  domestic  affliction, 
which  seemed  to  be  drawing  nigh. 

Mr.  Sharp  left  the  apartment  to  go  in  pursuit  of  Aminadab.  He 
found,  upon  inquiry,  that  the  boy  was  seen  going,  that  morning,  in 
the  direction  of  the  school-house ;  and  he  resolved  to  wait  for  his 
return,  at  the  dinner  hour.  He  then  sought  the  apartment  of  Mrs 
Sharp,  whom  he  found  engaged  in  the  instruction  of  little  Joel. 
Upon  the  first  communication  of  this  sad  news,  the  tears  came  into 


52  A  SECTARIAN  THING. 

her  eyes  ;  but  she  soon  wiped  them  away,  and  turning  to  her  hu» 
band,  "  I  have  shed  these  tears,"  said  she  "  because  I  cannot  see 
you  weep  alone ;  as  for  that  poor  boy,  he  has  had  more  already  than 
his  share  of  my  tears  and  sighs.  It  has  been,  for  a  long  time,  the 
daily  burthen  of  my  prayers  to  God,  that  he  would  support  us  both, 
under  this  impending  calamity;  for  I  have  expected  it  from  the 
beginning.  It  was  evident  to  me,  long  since,  that  Aminadab  had 
acquired  a  fatal  relish  for  spirit.  What  could  I  do  ?  I  would  not 
reproach  you,  my  dear  husband,  but,  when  I  have  seen  him,  so 
far  the  worse  for  liquor,  as  to  be  insolent  and  disrespectful,  and 
have  told  him,  that  rum  would  make  him  a  drunkard ;  he  would 
reply,  '  Father  drinks  it,  three  or  four  times  a  day ;  will  rum  make 
father  a  drunkard?'  When  I  have  said  to  him,  that  he  ought  to 
give  it  up  and  drink  water  only ;  he  always  replied,  with  a  sneer, 
'  Water  is  a  sectarian  thing,  and  father  says  so.'  "  —  "  Martha," 
said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  I  have  declared  before  our  minister  and  before 
God,  and  I  now  say  it  before  you,  not  another  drop  shall  enter  my 
habitation  nor  pass  my  lips.  If  I  have  been  the  means  of  ruining 
my  poor  boy.  may  God,  of  his  infinite  mercy,  forgive  me :  we  have 
another  child,  who  shall  never  appeal  to  his  father,  for  a  justification 
of  his  intemperance  "  Mrs.  Sharp  was  greatly  affected,  and  shed 
many  happy  tears,  at  this  joyful  resolution  of  her  husband.  There 
is  something  contagious  in  such  matters,  even  with  those,  who  are 
scarcely  able  to  comprehend  the  moving  cause ;  little  Joel  rose  from 
his  cricket,  and,  putting  down  his  book,  reached  up  to  kiss  both  his 
parents,  with  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 

When  the  dinner  hour  arrived,  as  Aminadab  did  not  return,  a 
message  was  sent  to  Master  Lane,  who  stated,  that  the  boy  had  not 
been  at  school,  for  more  than  a  week ;  that  his  previous  absences 
had  been  very  frequent ;  and  had  been  passed  over,  upon  his  state 
ment,  that  he  had  been  employed,  in  his  father's  store. 

This  intelligence  was  not  likely  to  abate  the  anxiety  of  these 
jnhappy  parents.  They  sat  down  to  their  meal,  in  silence  and  in 
sorrow. 

The  table  had  scarcely  been  removed,  when,  according  to  his 
promise,  the  good  minister  entered  their  dwelling.  Mr.  Sharp 
acquainted  him  with  Aminadab's  conduct,  at  Master  Lane's  school, 
and  that  he  had  not  returned,  since  the  morning.  It  was  supposed, 
however,  that,  conscious  of  his  detection,  he  was  strolling  some 
where  in  the  village,  and  would  not  come  back  until  bed-time. 

"  Now,  my  friend,"  said  Parson  Moody,  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Sharp 
had  retired,  and  left  her  husband  and  the  clergyman  together ;  "  if 
we  can  strengthen  our  good  resolutions  for  the  future,  by  an  exami- 


A  SECTARIAN  THING.  53 

nation  of  our  past  errors,  and  a  calm  contemplation  of  all  that  we 
have  lost ;  however  painful  the  task,  it  is  one  of  the  most  profitable 
exercises,  in  which  we  can  engage.  Suppose  you  had  long  been  a 
member  of  the  temperance  society,  and  as  zealous  in  promoting  its 
important  concerns,  as  you  ever  have  been  in  the  prosecution  of  your 
ordinary  undertakings ;  you  would,  in  such  case,  neither  have  par 
taken  of  ardent  spirits,  nor  have  had  them  in  your  house ;  is  it  not 
altogether  probable,  that  you  would  have  been  spared  that  affliction, 
which  now  wrings  your  bosom  ?  You  have  one  child,  to  preserve, 
and  another,  if  it  be  possible,  to  reclaim ;  you  have  resolved  to  aban 
don  the  use  of  ardent  spirit.  This  is  well.  Why  have  you  done 
this?  Have  you  been  actuated  by  any  religious,  moral,  or  philan 
thropic  motive?  Not  at  all.  You  have  been  moved,  by  a  selfish 
regard  to  your  own  fireside,  your  own  domestic  welfare  alone.  1 
urge  you,  as  a  man  of  good  feeling,  as  a  philanthropist,  to  reflect, 
that  you  owe  something  to  your  fellow-creature.  Mr.  Sharp,  your 
influence  is  great,  for  good  or  for  evil.  Justifying  their  conduct  by 
your  example,  there  are  undoubtedly  other  parents,  in  this  village, 
who  are  now  sowing  the  wind,  and  who  shall  reap  the  whirlwind 
like  yourself:  there  are  here  other  children,  the  children  of  those 
parents,  who  are  moving  rapidly  along,  on  the  rail-road  to  ruin. 
You  have  formed  a  good  resolution  for  yourself;  —  proclaim  it  to 
the  world,  for  the  sake  of  your  fellow-man.  Go,  and  with  a  firm 
hand,  set  your  name  to  the  pledge  of  the  temperance  society.  You 
say,  that  you  have  considered  the  temperance  reform  a  sectarian 
thing."  —  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  I  have  always  supposed  it 
was  gotten  up  by  the  Orthodox,  the  Trinitarians  ;  and  I  was  greatly 
surprised,  when  I  first  learned,  that  you  had  become  interested  in 
the  cause."  —  u  You  could  not  believe,  that  any  good  thing  coulr* 
come  out  of  Nazareth,"  said  the  clergyman.  "  My  friend,"  he 
continued,  "you  have  honestly  misused  a  term,  which  is  nothing 
better  than  a  crafty  invention  of  the  enemy,  a  mere  watchword  of 
opposition.  Would  you  refuse  to  be  saved  from  drowning,  because 
the  hand  of  rescue  was  extended  by  a  Christian,  whose  religious 
sentiments  were  different  from  your  own  ?  Would  you  persirt  in 
perishing  rather  than  be  drawn  out  of  the  water,  by  a  Trinitarian  ? 
Some  of  the  most  useful  and  ingenious  articles,  in  yt/.u  factories, 
were  invented  by  Calvinists,  Baptists,  and  Epifict/palkna.  "»Vhj 
do  you  permit  them  to  be  introduced?  — they  aie  sector  MI.  ii.in^  . 
An  infidel  discovered  the  secret  of  inoculation  ;  shall  \>t  tLtte&re 
forego  its  advantages?  We  call  ourselves  liberal  Cuii'-tl^u» ;  let  iw 
not  forfeit  that  character,  by  any  refusal,  equally  illP.eiui  und  im 
politic,  to  go  along  with  our  fellow-Christians,  of  any  denomination, 
VOL.  i.  5* 


54  A  SECTARIAN  THING. 

in  a  great  work  of  universal  philanthropy."  —  "  Your  reasons,  my 
dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  "  are  very  persuasive."  —  "  But  I  have 
been  reasoning  on  a  false  presumption,"  replied  the  minister ;  "  for, 
if  the  attempt  to  abolish  the  use  of  inebriating  liquor  be  a  sectarian 
thing,  the  prime  mover  and  promoter  of  that  sectarian  thing  was 
very  far  from  orthodoxy ;  Mahomet  was  not  a  Trinitarian.  Even 
in  modern  times,  the  first  president  of  the  oldest  temperance  society 
in  the  New  England  States,  the  celebrated  Samuel  Dexter,  was  an 
Unitarian.  Now,  my  good  friend,  neither  you  nor  I,  I  am  afraid, 
will  be  able  to  look  into  this  matter  more  thoroughly  than  that  great 
and  learned  man.  The  temperance  cause  furnishes  a  broad  ground 
of  neutrality,  upon  which  men  of  every  profession  and  of  every  faith, 
by  working,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  may 
learn  a  little  of  the  high  and  holy  mystery  of  loving  one  another.  I 
will  now  leave  you  to  your  own  reflections.  The  temperance  book 
is  at  my  house  ;  if  you  should  decide  to  put  your  name  upon  the  list 
of  members,  you  can  send  for  it ;  I  shall  press  the  matter  no 
further." 

Mr.  Sharp  thanked  the  good  man  for  all  his  counsel,  who,  with 
a  look  of  the  greatest  benevolence,  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  took 
his  leave. 

Tho  supper  hour  arrived,  and  Aminadab  had  not  returned.  The 
shades  of  evening  began  to  gather,  and  the  parents  became  alarmed 
for  his  personal  safety.  At  length  it  was  ascertained,  beyond  a 
doubt,  that  he  had  run  away.  One  of  his  late  associates,  as  bad  a 
boy  as  any  in  Clatterville,  gave  the  information,  that  Minny,  as  he 
was  called  by  his  companions,  suspecting  the  object  of  the  parson's 
early  visit,  had  listened  at  the  key-hole,  until  he  heard  his  father 
declare  his  resolution  to  give  him  a  flogging,  when  he  determined, 
as  he  said,  "  to  clear  out."  Minny,  the  informant  stated,  had  plenty 
of  cash,  for  he  had  shown  him  the  bills.  The  latter  part  of  this 
intelligence  induced  Mr.  Sharp  to  examine  the  writing-desk  in  his 
chamber.  He  found  it  had  been  broken  open,  and  rifled  of  a  pocket- 
book,  containing  about  three  hundred  dollars  in  bills. 

Crime  is  a  social  creature.  There  are  individuals,  it  is  true,  who 
appear  to  bs  almost  exclusively  addicted  to  some  particular  vice  ;  but 
who  worlj  ^T>  till  probability,  have  been  equally  infamous,  in  any 
other  c'epr.rtTrent  of  iniquity,  had  time  sufficed,  and  opportunity 
o^cu^td.  "When  the  moral  barrier  is  broken  down,  when  a  breach 
is  opm  ii'av.e,  Dy  the  artillery  of  sin,  the  whole  heart  is  not  likely  to 
bo  occupied  by  one  solitary  tenant.  Crime,  as  we  have  said,  is  a 
Bcoi?.l  crcnturo;  it  is  gregarious,  in  a  remarkable  degree.  Few 
there  are  who  have  passed  through  the  higher  degrees  of  infamy, 


A  SECTARIAN  THING  55 

aiid  finally  settled  down  for  life,  on  a  fellowship  in  the  state  prison 
who  cannot  remember  the  grog-shop,  which  was  the  primary  school, 
where  they  received  their  elementary  instruction.  Aminadab  had 
no  sooner  lost  all  respect  for  virtue  in  general,  by  becoming  a  tip 
pler,  than  he  lost  all  respect  for  his  parents,  and  all  fear  of  God; 
and  became  almost  immediately  an  idler,  a  truant,  a  liar,  and  a  thief. 

Such  measures  were  employed  as  seemed  best  calculated  to 
ascertain  the  direction  he  had  taken,  but  in  vain. 

Upon  an  early  day  of  the  ensuing  week,  Mr.  Sharp  waited  upon 
Parson  Moody,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  subscribe  the  pledge  of  the 
temperance  society.  The  good  man  brought  forth  the  book  with 
the  greatest  alacrity,  and  placed  it,  with  pen  and  ink,  upon  the  table. 
It  was  the  merchant's  usual  custom  to  employ  only  the  initial  letter 
of  his  given  name  ;  but,  on  the  present  occasion,  he  wrote  Aminadab 
Sharp,  at  full  length,  with  a  heavy  hand,  and,  doubtless,  with  a 
heavier  heart.  He  admitted,  with  perfect  frankness,  to  Parson 
Moody,  that  he  had  totally  misapprehended  the  character  of  the 
temperance  reform ;  not  because  the  subject  was  at  all  complicated 
in  itself;  but  simply  because  he  had  not  taken  sufficient  interest  in 
the  matter,  to  examine  the  nature  of  his  early  prepossessions  against 
it.  "  Experience  has  been  to  me,"  said  he,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  a 
severe  instructor ;  but  the  lesson  will  never  be  forgotten."  He  laid 
down  the  temperance  book,  and  took  his  leave. 

Shortly  after  his  departure,  Deacon  Gurley  called  at  the  parson 
age.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  conduct  of  some  other  deacons 
should  have  excited  unkind  suspicions  in  the  reader's  mind,  as  is 
probably  the  case,  in  regard  to  Deacon  Gurley.  But  this  respect 
able  man  had  never  trafficked  in  broken  constitutions  and  broken 
hearts.  He  was  a  steady  supporter  of  the  cause  of  temperance.  — 
"  Good  news,  Deacon  Gurley,"  said  the  clergyman.  "  Ah,"  said 
the  deacon,  "  has  neighbor  Sharp  found  his  son?"  —  "  No,"  replied 
Parson  Moody,  "  but  he  has  found  his  conscience,  poor  man,  which 
is  even  a  greater  gain  ;  he  has  signed  the  pledge  of  the  temperance 
society."  —  "  Can  it  be  possible?"  said  Deacon  Gurley ;  "  bad  luck 
for  the  dramsellers  in  Clatterville ;  for  neighbor  Sharp  never  does 
anything  by  halves."  —  "  Here  it  is,"  said  the  good  parson,  taking 
up  the  book,  —  "but  bless  me,  what  is  this?  —  he  has  not  been 
sparing  of  his  blotting  paper,  has  he?"  continued  the  minister, 
holding  up  an  hundred  dollar  bill,  which  had  been  placed  between 
the  leaves.  "  That  is  very  well,"  rejoined  the  deacon  ;  "  but  fifty 
such  would  be  less  beneficial  to  the  cause,  than  the  force  of  his 
example,  and  the  effect  of  those  exertions,  which  he  will  certainly 
make,  in  its  behalf.  As  I  said  before,  Aminadab  Srarp  does 
vuthing  by  halves.'" 


56  A  SECTARIAN  THING. 

The  deacon's  predictions  were  speedily  verified,  to  the  lettei 
Mr.  Sharp  was  in  nobody's  debt,  and  a  great  many  people  were  ir. 
his.  The  importers,  distillers,  taverners,  grocers,  and  retailers, 
with  their  retinue  of  tipplers  and  toadeaters,  could  in  no  way  thwart 
or  annoy  him.  He  did  not  want  their  votes,  for  he  would  never 
consent  to  be  a  candidate  for  any  office.  He  had  a  number  of  these 
people  for  his  tenants ;  *Jiey  were  all  promptly  notified,  that  their 
leases  would  not  be  renewed.  He  was  the  sole  proprietor  cf  the 
principal  hotel ;  he  made  an  immediate  arrangement  with  the  lessee, 
and  converted  it  into  a  temperance  house.  No  person  was  admit 
ted  to  work  in  the  factories,  who  would  not  pledge  himself  to  abstain 
from  ardent  spirits.  He  did  all  in  his  power  to  circulate  informa 
tion,  on  the  subject  of  the  evils  of  intemperance ;  and,  whenever  he 
passed  a  group  of  idle  boys,  he  was  sure  to  rouse  their  better  ener 
gies  into  profitable  action,  by  throwing  among  them  some  good  little 
book,  or  temperance  tale.  Several  of  Mr.  Sharp's  tenants  agreed 
ti/ continue  their  leases,  selling  no  ardent  spirit.  —  "  Sharp  is  the 
word,  now-a-days,"  said  an  old,  gray-headed,  fiery-looking  fuddler, 
as  he  turned  off,  disappointed  of  his  dram,  from  the  fourth  grocery 
store,  in  a  cold  frosty  morning;  "if  Clatterville  folks  put  up  with 
this,  there  's  an  end  o'  the  good  old  spirit  o'  New  England.  If 
things  goes  on  so,  half  the  inhabitants  will  move  over  to  Brandy- 
wine  village  afore  Christmas,  where  there  's  no  sich  sectarian  non 
sense  a  going  on." 

The  old  sinner  was  mistaken.  Nobody  moved  over  to  Brandy- 
wine  village,  on  account  of  the  reformation  in  Clatterville  ;  and  the 
improvement,  in  the  manners  and  habits  of  the  people,  soon  became 
a  topic  of  universal  remark. 

Days,  weeks,  and  months  rolled  rapidly  along,  and  no  trace  was 
discovered  of  the  runaway  boy.  Before  this  dark  cloud  settled  over 
his  dwelling,  Mr.  Sharp  had  appeared,  like  Sir  Balaam,  to  believe, 
that  God's  good  providence  was  a  lucky  hit.  But  he  had  learned 
an  important  lesson  of  the  instability  of  earthly  happiness.  His 
pride  had  become  humbled  ;  and  he  was  now  perfectly  satisfied,  that 
the  world  was  not  made  for  Caesar  nor  Aminadab  Sharp.  He  now 
perceived  that  riches,  even  if  they  do  not  take  wings  and  fly  away, 
cannot  buy  back  the  peace  of  a  broken-hearted  father.  The  tongues 
of  a  thousand  sycophants  could  not  now  charm  away  the  bitter  con 
viction  that  he  was  the  parent  of  a  drunkard  and  a  thief.  Sad  were 
the  feelings  of  this  unhappy  man,  when  he  reflected  upon  the  origio 
and  progress  of  this  domestic  calamity,  and  remembered  the  words 
of  the  holy  volume,  "  And  Nathan  said  unto  David,  Thou  art  th$ 
wan.'" 


A  SECTARIAN  THING.  57 

It  was  very  natural,  that,  at  the  period  of  this  calamity,  Mr.  Sharp 
in  the  compass  of  a  few  weeks,  should  have  examined  his  own  heart 
more  carefully,  than  during  the  whole  of  his  previous  life.  Such 
was  certainly  the  fact.  He  was  introduced  to  a  new  code  of  sensa 
tions  ;  he  began  to  have  a  practical  understanding  of  the  passage, 
which  teaches  the  broken  in  spirit,  that  the  help  of  man  is  a  reed. 

In  this  season  of  affliction,  he  derived  the  greatest  support  from  , 
the  consolations  of  an  excellent  wife  ;  he  began  fully  to  understand 
the  value  of  the  gem,  which  he  had  taken,  for  better  for  worse.  It 
was  about  a  month  after  the  departure  of  Aminadab,  that  Mr.  Sharp, 
returning  home,  in  the  evening,  had  retired  privately  to  an  apart 
ment,  connected  with  their  sleeping  chamber.  As  he  was  sitting 
there  alone,  ruminating  on  his  misfortune,  his  wife  entered  her 
chamber  with  little  Joel ;  and,  supposing  herself  within  hearing  of 
no  being,  but  the  Giver  of  every  good  and  perfect  gift,  she  proceeded 
to  offer  up  her  evening  supplication.  The  yet  unconverted  husband 
e>at  listening  to  the  prayers  of  a  child  of  God. — He  listened,  for  a 
while,  in  solemn  and  respectful  silence ;  but  when,  in  a  voice, 
scarcely  audible  for  her  sobs  and  tears,  she  asked  of  God  his  guid 
ance  and  support,  for  a  lost  and  a  wicked  boy ;  and  that  he  would 
sustain  an  afflicted  father,  and  bring  him  into  the  fold  in  his  own 
good  time,  he  could  no  longer  repress  his  emotions,  but,  rising  from 
his  seat,  crept  forward  silently,  and  knelt  by  her  side. 

On  the  subject  of  family  prayer,  this  was  no  longer  a  house  divided 
against  itself;  and  many  other  good  things  were  admitted,  one 
after  another.  Joel  became  an  uncommonly  fine  boy.  He  was 
carefully  brought  up  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and  there  was  no 
reason  to  apprehend,  that  he  would  depart  from  it,  when  he  should 
come  to  be  an  old  man. 

About  five  years  and  a  half  after  the  departure  of  their  eldest  son, 
Mr.  Sharp  received  a  letter  from  the  chaplain  of  the  State  Prison  in 
the  state  of ,  in  the  following  words  :  — 

,  Dec.  Uth,  18—. 

PEAR  SIR  : 

Peter  Jones,  a  convict  in  this  prison,  who  is  dying  of  consumption, 
has  desired,  that  the  enclosed  may  be  forwarded  to  you,  as  soon  ai 
possible.  Respectfully,  your  humble  serv't, 

W I . 

Aminadab  Sharp,  Esq.,  Clatterville. 

The  enclosed  letter  was  in  the  following  words  : — 

State  Prison,  Dec.  12,  18  — . 
DEAR  PARENTS : 

Receive  the  dying  words  of  a  wicked  child.  I  have  but  little 
strength,  and  my  words  must  be  few.  When  I  left  you,  I  took  th» 


58  A  SECTARIAN  THING. 

Providence  road,  and  came  to  New  York,  where  my  life  was  consumed 
in  all  kinds  of  dissipation,  while  the  money  lasted,  which  I  took  from 
father's  desk.  When  it  was  all  gone,  I  got  into  the  company  of  those 
who  put  me  in  the  way  of  getting  more.  I  have  two  or  three  time, 
resolved  to  reform.  At  one  time,  I  did  not  taste  ardent  spirit,  for 
three  weeks;  I  worked  till  I  had  earned  almost  enough  to  bear  my 
expenses  home.  I  kept  out  of  the  way  of  ardent  spirit,  for  my  han 
kering  was  so  great,  that  I  was  afraid  I  should  not  hold  out.  One 
afternoon,  as  I  was  on  the  wharf,  a  man  came  to  speak  to  me,  who 
had  been  drinking  rum.  I  smelt  his  breath,  and  I  could  resist  no 
longer.  I  went  to  the  dram  shop,  and  my  earnings  were  soon  spent. 
For  the  gratification  of  my  appetite,  I  was  induced  to  rob  a  gentle- 
man  of  his  pocket-book,  which  brought  me  here.  —  Dear  mother,  God 
will  reward  you  for  all  your  good  counsel,  though  it  has  been  lost 
upon  your  poor  boy.  If  I  could  only  see  you,  it  would  be  a  comfort 
to  me,  before  I  die.  I  would  try  to  muster  strength  to  crawl  out  of 
my  bed,  and  ask  your  forgiveness  on  my  knees. — Dear  father,  don't 
Jet  little  Joel  have  any  spirit,  but  heed  the  last  request  of  his  dying 
brother.  —  /  am  known  here  only  by  the  name  of  Peter  Jones. 
From  your  undutiful  son, 

AMINADAB  SHARP. 

The  conception  of  that  anguish,  which  this  letter  produced,  is 
only  within  the  province  of  imagination.  I  have  neither  the  hand 
nor  the  heart  to  give  it  form.  "  O  my  dear  husband,"  said  Mrs. 
Sharp,  "  let  us  fly  to  this  poor  prodigal  before  he  dies  !"  —  It  was 
determined  to  start,  on  the  morrow's  dawn.  —  Another  letter  from 
the  chaplain  came  in  the  midnight  mail  —  the  victim  of  a  father's 
imprudence  was  no  more. 

The  last  account  I  received  of  this  family  was  in  the  fall  of  the 
year  18 — .  I  then  passed  through  the  village;  and,  while  the 
horses  were  resting  at  the  inn,  I  noticed  a  gentleman  walking  slowly 
alone,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  who,  every  now  and  then, 
shook  his  head,  in  a  singular  manner.  —  "  Who  is  that  gentleman?" 
said  I.  — "  It  is  Mr.  Sharp,"  said  the  hostler,  "  who  lost  his  son  : 
he  is  somehow  melancholy,  as  you  see ;  and,  as  he  goes  along,  he 
often  mutters  to  himself,  poor  boy,  poor  boy!  " 

Joel  has  grown  up  an  excellent  young  man ;  and  abundantly 
repays  his  mother,  for  all  her  maternal  care.  He  is  a  pattern  for 
all  young  persons  in  the  village,  teaching  them,  by  his  example,  to 
honor  their  fathers  and  their  mothers,  that  their  days  may  be  long 
w»  the  land  ^hich  the  Lord  their  God  hath  given  the/m. 


GROGGY   HARBOR. 


I  lore  a  tailor,  — not  a  drinking,  swearing,  swaggering  sailor,  — Hearen  forbid.  Nothing,  upm 
the  land  or  the  sea,  can  exhibit  a  more  finished  example  of  man's  improvidence  and  Jolly,  thin  the 
conduct  of  those  silly  fellows,  who  divide  the  whole  span  of  their  existence  into  two  unequal  {arts  ; 
devotitg  almost  the  whole  of  it  to  the  severest  labor  and  the  most  imminent  peril,  and  a  few  days, 
weeks,  or  months  of  intervening  time,  to  unlimited  debauchery.  Such  a  sailor's  life  is  truly  a  cloj's 
life,  and  his  death  is  a  dog's  de;ith  ;  for,  living  and  dying,  a  drunkard  and  a  profligate  are,  mathe 
matically,  upon  a  level  with  the  brutes  that  perish —  saving  tht%"lgment. 

But  I  sometimes  meet  a  fine  fellow,  upon  whose  live  oak  timbers  time  has  been  working,  arpar- 

•  ose  its  savor;  or,  in  other  words,  imbued  upon  his  mother's  knee,  with  those  principles  of  relig 
ious  faith,  which,  amid  all  the  storms  of  life,  have  proved  the  sheet  anchor  of  the  soul.  Whether  I  con 
template  the  skill  and  prowess  of  this  honest  fellow,  on  his  own  peculiar  element,  or  listen  to  those 
tales  of  the  sea,  with  which  a  sailor  can  stir  the  landsman's  heart,  or  mark  his  serene  and  dignified 
deportment,  as  he  takes  his  seat  in  the  house  of  God  ;  I  never  looked  upon  such  in  one  as  this, 
without  a  sentiment  of  affectionate  respect. 

"Groggy  Harbor,"  like  an  accommodating  almanac,  is  calculated  for  the  New  England  States; 
but  will  answer  lor  every  part  of  the  woild.  This  little  work  was  particularly  written  fora  friend, 
with  whose  name  I  should  be  proud  to  adorn  it,  if  I  had  not  an  inveterate  U:*like  of  dedications. 
My  reverend  friend  needs  nothing  of  the  kind  from  me.  It  is  enough  for  him  to  be  permitted  to 
enjoy  the  reflections  of  a  practical  philanthropist;  to  guide  his  hardy  followers  to  the  li'ing  God, 
with  little  reverence  for  the  forms  and  ceremonies  of  the  present  world  ;  and  to  win,  for  himself,  em 
phatically,  the  title  of  the  friend  of  seamen,  —  for  them  an  immortal  crown. 

I  must  be  indulged  in  a  single  remark,  and  then,  under  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  as  I  trust,  I  will 
cast  my  little  book,  literally,  upon  the  waters.  I  have  seen  the  sturdy  <rroup  of  weather-beaten  men, 
who  zealously  attend  upon  the  eloquent  ministration  of  my  worthy  friend.  When  I  have  seen  a 
thousand  eyes  at  once,  which  have  looked  many  a  north-wester  out  of  countenance,  paying  their  trib 
ute  to  the  voice  of  nature  and  of  eternal  truth,  I  have  said  within  myself,  —  I  had  rather  be  the 
preacher  in  this  bethel,  and  draw  one  honest  tear  for  my  pains-,  than  the  aichbishop  of  Canterbury, 
with  the  reasonable  expectation  of  a  Stilton  cheese,  and  a  haunch  of  venison. 


THE  Orkney  islands,  the  Orcades  of  the  ancients,  are  separated 
from  the  northern  extremity  of  Scotland,  by  a  frith,  not  more  than 
ten  miles  in  breadth  ;  yet  so  limited  was  the  intercourse  between 
these  islands  and  the  main,  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  that  a 
Scotch  fisherman  was  imprisoned,  in  May,  for  publishing  the  account 
of  the  elevation  of  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  Orange  to  the  throne 
of  England,  the  preceding  November  :  and  he  would  probably  have 
been  hanged,  had  not  the  news  been  confirmed,  by  the  fortunate 
airival  of  a  ship  from  Glasgow. 

At  the  period,  to  which  we  are  about  to  refer,  the  communication 
was  scarcely  more  frequent,  between  the  metropolis  of  New  Eng 
land  and  the  obscure  little  village  of  FISHINGPORT,  more  familiarly 
known  along  the  neighboring  sea-coast,  by  the  less  attractive  appel 
lation  of  GROGGY  HARBOR.  Its  exports  consisted  of  fish,  an^  ift? 
imports  were  principally  rum.  So  long  as  the  Spring  and  Fall  fain- 
were  sufficiently  productive  to  procure  for  the  inhabitants  tu:  uiv.'al 
supply  of  this  important  articis,  with  a  suitable  quantity  of  tobacco 
the  majority  of  the  people  were  perfectly  satisfied  To  bu  Sere, 
there  was  an  aristocraticd  party,  v/ho,  not  contented  with  the  po»- 


60  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

eession  of  these  necessaries  of  life,  aspired  after  such  luxuries  a  a 
flour,  sugar,  and  molasses,  and  a  reasonable  quantity  of  winter  and 
summer  apparel.  But  by  far  the  larger  portion  selected  the  more 
favorable  intervals  along  the  barren  coast ;  and  planted,  here  and 
there,  patches  of  potatoes  and  Indian  corn,  literally  struggling  with 
the  precipice  for  bread.  The  poor  man's  pig,  sacred  in  the  eye 
of  the  law,  and  secured  from  the  grasping  creditor,  was  here  ar 
important  personage  in  every  household ;  and,  although  the  poik 
of  Groggy  Harbor  was  proverbially  fishy,  yet  with  abundance 
of  fish  and  potatoes,  and  plenty  of  rum,  they  were  as  happy  as 
Hottentots,  knowing  little  of  the  present  world,  and  caring  less  for 
any  other. 

There  were  inhabitants  in  Fishingport,  of  a  very  different  order ; 
they  were  perfectly  respectable,  but  they  were  very  few.  Of  this 
number  some  continued  to  reside  in  a  place,  where  so  much  was 
constantly  presented  of  a  painful  and  disgusting  character,  because 
of  their  attachment  to  the  place  of  their  nativity,  and  to  the  posts 
and  pillars  of  their  youth.  Others  had  determined  to  remove  from  a 
spot,  possessing  so  few  attractions,  as  soon  as  they  felt  themselves 
sufficiently  wealthy  ;  an  era  which  never  arrived.  And  one  or  two 
still  held  on,  unwilling  to  part  with  a  distinction,  which  would  not 
have  followed  them  beyond  the  boundary  line. 

Fishingport  was  provided,  of  course,  with  its  municipal  govern 
ment.  In  this  interesting  village,  there  was  something  more  than 
the  requisite  amount  of  lying,  fighting,  and  cheating,  for  the  estab 
lishment  of  a  lawyer's  office.  There  were  two  in  full  operation, 
whither  the  aggrieved  fled  for  shelter,  as  sheep  fly  to  the  bramble 
bush,  leaving  half  their  fleece  behind. 

The  clergyman  of  the  village  was  miserably  paid,  and  frequently 
reminded,  in  an  endless  variety  of  ways,  of  the  burthen,  which  he 
brought  upon  the  parish.  For  once  that  he  reminded  his  thought 
less  parishioners  of  their  dependence  upon  God,  they  were  sure  to 
remind  him  twice  of  his  own  dependence  upon  them.  Whenever 
he  married  a  couple  or  baptized  a  child,  they  seldom  sent  him  any 
ether  present  than  a  couple  of  haddocks.  Indeed,  Parson  Twisl 
wanted  that  independence  of  character,  without  which,  no  clergyman 
will  be  likely  to  sustain  himself  long,  and  profitably  for  his  flocK 
"He  endeavored  to  please  all  parties ;  and,  of  course,  he  did  rot  tell 
Ju«  people  the  solemn  truth.  It  was  a  common  observation,  in  the 
viih;-v,.  th.at  his  sermons  were  neither  fish  nor  flesh. 

it  v.sjs,  seldom  the  case,  that  any  oiher  craft  was  seen  in  the  port, 
than  such  small  vessels,  as  were  engaged  in  the  fining  business.  In 
a  severe  storm,  it  was  not  uncommon  for  square- rigged  \essela  to 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  61 

seek  an  anchorage  in  the  harbor,  but  they  seldom  communicated 
with  the  shore.  It  was  therefore  a  subject  of  very  considerable 
interest,  when,  upon  a  clear  morning  in  October,  with  a  cracking 
oree'/.e  from  the  west-north-west,  a  ship  of  four  01  five  hundred  tons 
was  seen  standing  round  the  "Drunkard's  Ruin,"  for  that  was  the 
name  of  a  reef,  on  which  an  intoxicated  captain  had  perished  with 
his  whole  crew,  some  forty  years  before. 

While  the  numerous  idlers  who  crowded  to  the  shore  were  giving 
their  opinions,  as  to  the  character  and  object  of  this  unusual  visitor, 
she  backed  her  topsail,  lay  to,  about  a  mile  from  the  end  of  the  reef, 
and  fired  a  gun  for  a  pilot.  But  no  pilot  was  at  hand  ;  and  it  became 
a  matter  of  debate,  which  soon  rose  to  altercation,  what  should  be 
done.  The  clergyman,  who  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  ordnance, 
while  employed  in  finding  a  new  text  for  an  old  sermon,  upon  the 
perfectibility  of  human  virtue,  surprised  by  so  unusual  an  occurrence, 
upset  the  contents  of  his  inkhorn  upon  some  of  the  most  interesting 
parts  cf  his  discourse,  and,  seizing  his  hat,  was  soon  in  the  midst 
of  a  conclave,  as  clamorous  and  as  contrary-minded,  as  the  celebrated 
synod  of  Dort.  The  sudden  apparition  of  the  minister  abated  noth 
ing  of  that  eagerness,  with  which  the  disputation  was  carried  on 
But  every  disputant  appeared  to  feel  just  enough  respect  for  Parson 
Twist,  to  be  willing  to  strengthen  his  argument,  by  the  authority 
of  the  clergyman's  opinion.  "  Look  here,  Parson  Twist,"  said  a 
rough,  red  looking  fellow,  who  had  already  seized  a  pair  of  oars, 
*  the  tide 's  setting  in  strong,  and  she  's  backing  on  to  the  reef;  if 
she  touches,  she 's  gone  ;  don't  ye  see  how  deep  she  is  in  the  water. 
Parson?  In  less  than  two  hours,  I  know  by  the  glin,  we  shall  h&ve 
a  real  blow,  right  ashore."  —  "Well,"  said  Parson  Tv/i^r,  look 
ing  round  cautiously  upon  the  group,  "  there  is  yorr'Ahn  ^  ir>  what 
you  say,  Mr.  Bean."  —  "Ay,  ay,"  said  an  old  v/vcr.Vc.r,  who 
had  taken  the  sea-shore,  as  a  highwayman  takes  the  highway,  tor 
thirty  years,  "  this  is  her  last  trip,  and  yc  cirn't  save  aer.  none  of 
ye ;  and  if  ye  go  within  a  hundred  fathoms  of  the  old  hulk,  th*y  'II 
say  ye  run  her  on  to  the  'Ruin;'  don't  ye  think  so,  Parson:'' 
"  Why,  it  is  matter  for  reflection,  Mr.  Mooney,"  replied  the  minis 
ter :  "I  cannot  say  but  it  is  so,  and  1  cannot  say  as  it  is  so."  '*  1  '<? 
fetch  her  in  for  a  glass  o'  grog,"  said  a  wrinkled  old  fellow,  with  a 
tarpaulin  hat  on  the  tip  top  of  his  head,  who.  even  at  that  hcur  oi 
tie  morning,  was  staggering  under  the  influence  of  the  rum-ptisy. 
."  You  fetch  her  in  !"  said  another,  who  was  not  so  groggy  D>  na*t ; 
"  ha  !  ha !  ha !  do  it,  Billy,  and  I  '11  find  the  grog." 

By  this  time  the  first  speaker  had  thrown  his  oars  into  a  whale-boa* , 
and,  crying,  "  Come,  Parson,  give  us  a  shove,"  with  the  assistance 

FOL.    I.  6 


62  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

of  two  or  three  others,  hauled  her  into  the  surf.  At  this  moment, 
old  Mooney,  who  had  climbed  up  on  a  crag,  that  overlooks  the  har* 
bor,  cried  out  to  those  below  :  "  Ship  your  oars,  my  boys,  that  's  an 
old  salt  off  there,  and  if  he  has  n't  run  his  jib-boom  into  this  harboi 
afore,  my  name  isn't  Mark  Mooney."  —  "  Why  what  is  he  about, 
Mark?"  said  Bean,  who  was  in  the  act  of  shipping  the  boat's  rud 
der  ;  at  the  same  time,  he  observed  in  an  under  tone  to  hia  compan 
ions,  "  Bear  a  hand,  the  old  sea-wolf  only  wants  another  wreck, 
and  he  'd  care  no  more  for  a  dozen  poor  fellows  dying  in  the  surf, 
than  for  a  dozen  porpoises  galloping  there."  "Go  on  a  foci's 
errand  then,  if  you  will,"  continued  Mooney  ;  "  I  tell  ye,  the  old  salt 
water  dog  has  got  two  boats  sounding  round  the  reef  —  there  nov, 
look  for  yourselves,  round  goes  the  topsail  —  see  how  she  pays  off 
—  there  she  goes."  Sure  enough,  she  was  soon  out  of  danger, 
and  when  she  had  given  the  "  Ruin"  a  better  berth,  she  lay  to 
again,  for  her  boats  to  come  aboard,  and  fired  another  gun.  Shortly 
after,  while  Bean  and  his  companions  were  about  starting  again, 
Mooney  shouted  from  the  crag,  "  You  won't  get  to  sea  to-day  ; 
here,  Bean,  come  up  aloft."  Bean  jumped  out  of  the  boat,  and  ran 
up  the  cliff,  and  following  the  direction  of  the  old  wrecker's  finger, 
he  saw  Jim  Dixon's  pinkey,  under  all  sail,  coming  round  the  reef, 
from  the  back  of  the  harbor,  and  standing  directly  for  the  ship. 
"  Well,  well,"  said  Bean,  as  he  came  down  from  the  crag,  "  she  '11 
be  full  as  safe  under  honest  Jim  Dixon's  care,  as  though  you  or  I 
had  the  charge  of  her,  daddy  :  Jim  knows  the  harbor,  every  inch  of 
it,  and  would  wreck  his  new  pinkey  any  time,  to  save  a  brother 
sailor." 

Jim  soon  ran  up  under  the  stranger's  lee  ;  and,  in  a  very  few 
moments,  she  vras  under  way,  standing  into  the  harbor.  She  soon 
bogan  10  tul^e  in  sail  ;  and,  in  three  quarters  of  an  hour,  was  riding 
ai  anchor,  about  two  cables'  length  from  the  town. 

At  this  moment,  the  largest  part  of  the  population  of  Fishingport 
\  's.  collected  upon  the  shore  ;  and  curiosity  had  never  been  excited 
fi  such  a  pitch,  unless  when  a  vague  rumor  reached  the  village  of 
tliv,  capitulation  of  Yorktown,  full  three  months  after  that  happy 


•Tim  Dixon  could  scarcely  get  foothold  upon  the  shore,  for  the 
«ui.  ng,  that  pressed  upon  him  with  inquiries.  "  Give  us  a  little 
•'--rh  air!"  said  Jim,  as  he  pushed  forward  among  the  crowd,  with 
li'z  bravny  shoulders,  the  mass  of  men,  women,  and  children  curl 
irg  in  his  rear,  like  the  parted  waters  of  the  German  ocean,  roun 
tut  3tera  of  a  Dutch  dogger.  Having  attained  an  eminence,  Jim 
turnad  round  and  addressed  his  fellow-citi7ens,  in  a  short  and  sens 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  63 

ble  speech,  nearly  as  follows  —  "  Don't  bother  a  body  to  death,  and 
fri"8  us  a  "little  eea  room.  —  All  I  know  is  jest  this,  that  are  craft  is 
thy  Pe.2£y  Laue,  last  from  Cadiz,  the  captain  is  the  queerest  sort  of 
9.  salt  fish,  that  ever  swum.  The  first  thing  he  says  to  me, 
vrhwri  I  got  upon  deck,  was  this,  'Born  in  the  harbor,  my  boy  V 
Sc  I  T.cld  him  I  v/as.  '  Is  old  Peggy  Lane  alive? '  said  he.  *  Ay, 
ay,  ?!:,'  said  I.  '  Is  friend  Ephraim  Simpson,  the  Quaker  carpenter, 
alive  r  '  Ay,  ay,  sir,'  said  I.  '  Thank  God,'  said  he ;  « ready  with 
the  anchor,  my  boys.'  'Now,  captain,'  says  I,  'it's  a  pretty 
sharp  morning,  let's  have  a  thimble  full  o'  grog,  will  ye?'  'My 
lad,'  says  he,  'you  might  as  well  ask  a  Highlander  for  a  knee- 
buckle.  There  's  not  a  drop  aboard  my  ship,  and  there  never  will 
be,  while  I  command  her :  but  here  is  something  for  your  trouble.' 
So  he  gave  me  two  doubloons.  A  pretty  good  morning's  work, 
eh? — I  forgot  to  say,  that  one  of  the  crew  told  me  he  had  sailed 
seven  years  in  the  Peggy,  with  the  same  master,  and  that  the 
vessel  was  named  after  his  old  schoolma'am :  they  told  me  the 
captain's  name,  but  I  've  lost  it  somewhere  in  my  lubber-hole  of  a 
head,  and  that's  all  I  know  about  it."  "That  ship  named  for 
Peggy  Lane,  the  old  schoolma'am!"  cried  an  old  Amazon,  in  a 
cracked  voice,  at  the  top  of  her  lungs,  with  a  scream  of  laughter, 
which  was  perfectly  contagious,  and  exercised  the  whole  group, 
for  several  minutes.  "Hand,  reef,  and  steer  without  grog!"  said 
he  with  the  tarpaulin  hat ;  "  a  lily-livered  set,  I  '11  warrant  ye;  ha ! 
ha !  what  would  old  skipper  Hallibut  say  to  that !"  —  "A  finer  set 
of  fellows  never  went  round  a  capstan,"  said  Jim  Dixon  ;  "  I  didn't 
hear  an  oath,  the  whole  time  I  was  aboard."  Mr.  Simon  Spicket, 
the  little  grocer,  as  a  cunning  spider  places  its  web,  in  a  thorough 
fare  for  flies,  had  planted  his  shop  at  the  head  of  the  wharf,  with  a 
window  each  way,  that  he  might  shift  his  little  parade  of  decanters, 
on  the  principle  of  a  revolving  light,  as  the  fishermen  came  down  in 
the  morning,  or  returned  in  the  evening.  Anticipating  an  unusual 
run  of  custom,  upon  the  arrival  of  the  Peggy,  in  Groggy  Harbor, 
ne  had  arranged  his  apparatus,  and  filled  his  decanters;  and  arrived 
among  the  crowd  just  in  season  to  catch  the  last  words.  "  Bless 
my  heart !"  cried  he,  "  no  spirit !  I  'm  sure  I  should  n't  think  it  was 
safe  to  go  to  sea  without  spirit,  in  case  of  a  storm  or  cold  weather  . 
nefer  mind,  I  guess  they  '11  make  up  for  it  on  shore." 

In  about  half  an  hour,  a  boat  was  lowered  from  the  ship,  and 
four  sailors  jumped  into  it,  and  waited  alongside.  In  a  short  time, 
a  person  was  seen  coming  over  the  side.  "There,"  said  Jirn 
Dixon,  "that's  he  —  that 's  the  captain !"  The  boat  now  made 
for  the  land.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  this  object  of  univer- 


64  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

sal  curiosity,  as  he  stepped  from  the  boat  to  ths  shore;  but  n« 
person  present  seemed  able  to  identify  the  stranger.  Ks  v/^s 
apparently  about  forty-five,  a  strong,  square-built  man,  with  a  siiii- 
burnt  visage,  and  an  expression,  in  which  there  was  nothiuj  of 
severity,  but  something  to  overawe.  "  Stand  by,  ray  l<uts,"  said 
he  to  the  boat's  crew.  "  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  RiMM^iiJa- 
ing  Jim  Dixon  in  the  crowd,  he  asked  him  if  old  friend  Siuvpson 
lived  on  the  hill,  where  he  lived  thirty  years  ago.  Jim  replied  lh*t 
he  did,  and  offered  to  show  him  the  way.  "  No,  my  lad,"  said  he , 
"  I  knew  it  well  enough,  before  you  ever  smelt  the  salt  water."  As 
he  was  turning  off,  he  caught  a  glance  of  Mark  Mooney,  and  calling 
Dixon,  appeared  to  be  making  an  inquiry,  to  which  he  simply 
nodded  a  reply.  After  he  had  gone,  "  Daddy  Mooney,"  said  Jim, 
"the  captain  knows  the  cut  of  your  jib."  "Does  he?"  said  the 
old  wrecker,  "  I  thought  he  was  dead  nigh  thirty  years  ago." 
"  Why,  wbo  is  he?"  said  Dixon.  "  Oh,  I  can't  say  as  I  know," 
said  the  old  man ;  and  putting  a  fresh  quid  into  his  mouth,  he 
turned  upon  his  heel,  and  walked  silently  away. 

Finding  t!ie  boat's  crew  were  not  likely  to  come  upon  the  wharf 
without  an  invitation,  Mr.  Simon  Spicket  proceeded  to  do  the 
honors  of  froggy  Harbor.  So  he  came  to  the  capsil,  and  rubbing 
his  hands,  "  Rather  fallish,"  said  he.  "  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  old 
boatswain,  \vho  sat  squatting  on  his  haunches,  in  his  shaggy  pea- 
jacket,  like  a  grizzly  bear,  ready  for  any  customer.  "Got  a  nice 
fire  in  th-j  itore;  won't  ye  step  in,  and  warm  your  ringers?"  "No, 
thank  y»,  sir,"  the  old  boatswain  replied.  "Got  plenty  of  New 
England  i<.::d  some  choice  old  Jamaica,"  continued  Mr.  Simon. 
"  No  o^,ni?ion  for  any,  I  thank  ye,  sir,"  replied  the  man  of  the  sea. 
"  Have  •  little  real  Hollands  if  ye  prefer  it,"  said  the  grocer.  "  No, 
no,  my  ::ier,d,"  returned  the  old  boatswain,  with  a  growling  tone 
of  voice,  which  showed  that  his  temper  was  getting  a  wiry  edge. 
Mr.  Simon  Spicket,  who  knew  that  he  had  been  licensed  for  the 
public  good,  w?s  not  easily  thwarted  in  his  philanthropic  operations. 
After  a  short  at  sence,  therefore,  he  returned  to  the  charge,  with  — 
"  Some  nice  oil  cherry,  or  I  can  make  ye  a  mug  of  flip,"  "  You 
landlubber,"  roared  the  old  boatswain,  who  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
"  who  wants  an  /  of  your  brimstone  and  fire?  you're  the  devil's 
pilot  fish,  and  if  I  had  you  by  the  gills,  I  'd  make  you  swallow  a 
bucket  of  salt  w>ter ;  drop  her  dowVi  to  a  lower  berth,  my  boys,  till 
the  captain  cor;es."  Mr.  Simon  Spicket  stepped  back  into  hia 
shop,  and  sat  di.  wn,  with  the  conviction,  that  there  were  people  in 
the  world,  who  could  not  be  served. 

The  captain  had  soon  made  his  way  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  60 

found  himself  in  front  of  a  small  white  cottage  with  green  blinds. 
It  was  easily  recognized,  as  the  residence  of  friend  Simpson.  It 
had  been  recently  painted  anew,  and  presented  a  remarkable  wra- 
trast  to  the  surrounding  habitations.  The  tap  at  the  do*i  ^aa 
promptly  answered  :  it  was  opened  by  a  tall  old  man,  with  a  cape- 
less  coat,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  from  under  which  the  long 
straight  hair  descended  on  either  side  of  the  head,  much  whiter 
than  the  sheet,  on  which  I  am  writing  the  present  narrative.  Each 
stood,  in  perfect  silence,  gazing  at  the  other :  at  length,  friend 
Simpson  began,  "Well,  friend,  what  is  thy  business1?"  "Why, 
don't  ye  know  me?"  said  the  seafaring  man,  grasping  old  Ephrairn 
by  the  hand,  while  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes.  "  Nay,  verily," 
replied  the  Quaker,  "perhaps  thee  beest  in  error;  who  dost  theo 
take  me  to  be?"  "  Ephraim  Simpson,  to  be  sure,"  rejoined  the 
sailor,  "the  best  earthly  friend  I  ever  knew,  save  one."  "And 
pray  who  maybe  that  other?"  said  the  old  man.  "  Peggy  Lane," 
replied  the  captain,  "  who  found  me  on  the  beach,  after  my  parents 
were  lost  on  the  '  Ruin,'  just  forty  years  ago,  and  was  a  mother  to 
me."  "Billy  Lane!"  said  the  old  man,  in  perfect  astonishment; 
"  but  it  cannot  be  possible  !"  "  Billy  Lane,"  said  the  captain,  still 
holding  the  Quaker  by  the  hand,  "  as  sure  as  your  good  wife's  name 
is  Margery,  who  was  always  kind  to  me,  and  who  I  trust  is  alive 
nd  well."  "Billy  Lane!"  repeated  the  old  man  to  himself; 
"  however,  there  is  a  God  above  all,  walk  thee  this  way,  friend,  it 
may  be  as  thee  sayest."  So  saying  he  led  the  way  into  the  little 
parlor,  and  stepping  out,  for  a  moment,  speedily  returned  with  a  tall, 
straight,  particular  body,  who  advanced  directly  to  the  stranger, 
and,  looking  him  intently  in  the  face,  exclaimed  in  a  shrill  small 
voice,  as  thin  as  a  thread,  "  Can  the  sea  give  up  its  dead,  before 
*he  account!"  "  Why  look  here,"  cried  the  captain,  almost  worn 
out  with  their  obstinate  incredulity,  "  I  believe  I  must  go  and  try  my 
Uick  with  mother  Lane,"  as  he  had  always  called  his  preserver 
'  I  guess  she  '11  know  her  poor  Billy,  as  she  used  to  call  me." 
"'  Sit  thee  still,  if  thou  beest  Billy,"  said  Margery  Simpson ;  "we 
lave  sent  for  friend  Peggy,  and  thee  shall  soon  see  her  here." 
The  stranger  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and  unfolding  a  small  piece 
if  paper,  which  he  appeared  to  have  carefully  preserved,  handed  it 
o  the  old  man;  "Do  you  remember  that,  father  Simpson?"  ts&d 
he.  The  Quaker  put  cu  his  glasses,  and,  after  examining  the 
paper  attentively,  he  lowe^d  his  brow,  and,  looking  at  the  cvptain 
over  his  spectacles,  "  V^Uy,"  said  he,  "  I  believe  thee  sayest  the 
truth,  this  is  my  own  hand;  and  I  remember  giving  it  to  Billy 
Lane,  when  he  made  up  his  mind  to  seek  his  fortune  on  the  sea,  in 
VOL.  i  6* 


66  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

preference  to  learning  the  carpenter's  trade  ;  Billy  was  a  good  boy, 
but  all  for  the  sea ;  and,  the  morning  before  he  went,  he  asked  me 
to  give  him  some  good  advice,  on  a  piece  of  paper,  that  he  might 
keep  it  to  remember  his  old  master.  This  is  that  paper,  and  I  gave 
it  to  the  boy  with  my  blessing,  thirty  years  ago.  This  advice  ia 
not  like  common  news,  good  only  while  it  is  new ;  it  reads  well : 
*  Say  thy  prayers;1  "  continued  the  old  man,  reading  over  the  paper, 
"  '  read  thy  Bible;  mind  thy  business;  be  good  to  the  poor  ,  cbcy  the 
laws ;  avoid  bad  company ;  drink  no  spirit ;  let  thy  yea  be  yea,  and 
thy  nay,  nayS  "  At  this  moment,  old  Peggy  was  making  her  way 
in  at  the  door.  "Is  it  my  poor  Billy?"  said  the  old  woman. 
"  Ay,  13  it,  gcod  "  —  mother,  he  would  have  said,  but  his  emotion 
checked  Lis  utterance,  as  he1  threw  his  arms  round  the  poor  old 
creature's  neck.  "  Oh  me,"  continued  old  Peggy,  "  if  it  is  Billy , 
how  the  little  creature  has  grown  !  Let  me  look  at  the  back  of  hia 
head."  "Ay,  good  mother,"  said  he,  "you'll  find  thu  scar 
there."  "  Sure  enough,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it  is  my  poor  boy,  that 
I  dragged  out  of  the  surf,  that  terrible  day,  when  all  but  he  were 
lost  on  the  *  Ruin,'  and  there  is  the  mark  of  the  cruel  blow,  that  he 
got  from  the  rocks,  or,  —  Heaven  forgive  me!  from  that  savage 
shark  of  a" — "  Nay,  nay,  friend  Peggy,"  said  Ephraim  Simpson. 
"  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord."  "  And  so  it  is,"  said  she  ; 
"  poor  boy,  ye  was  about  five  then.  I  thought  it  would  have  been 
Salomon's  judgment  over  again,  and  that  the  wild  sea  would  have 
had  one  half  of  the  poor  child,  while  I  strove  for  the  other  ;  but 
there  was  a  greater  than  Solomon  there,  He  that  ruleth  the  sea,  ana 
it  was  his  holy  pleasure  to  have  it  otherwise." 

Captain  Lane  gratified  the  curiosity  of  his  old  friends,  by  giving 
them  a  brief  account  of  his  adventures.  The  brig,  in  which  he  first 
went  to  sea,  was  wrecked  on  the  coast  of  Morocco.  This  fraction 
of  his  history,  it  seems,  had  reached  the  village  of  Fishingport. 
When  the  vessel  struck,  their  preservation  appeared  altogether  im 
possible.  The  crew  resorted,  for  oblivion,  to  ardent  spirit,  and 
were  launched,  one  after  another,  dead  drunk,  into  eternity.  Billy 
remembered  father  Simpson's  injunction ;  and,  putting  the  valued 
paper  between  the  leaves  of  his  little  Bible,  he  strapped  the  volume 
round  his  waist,  and  threw  himself  on  a  spar  into  the  sea.  He  waa 
tossed  in  safety  to  the  shore.  Here  he  was  taken  by  the  natives, 
and  carried  into  the  interior,  where  he  was  detained  more  than  eight 
years.  He  at  length  escaped ;  and,  travelling  by  night,  and  con 
cealing  himself  by  day,  arrived  on  the  sea-shore.  He  was  fortu 
nately  taken  off  by  an  English  vessel,  and  carried  to  Liverpool.  He 
there  shipped,  before  the  mast,  for  Sumatra  and  back.  On  tha 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  67 

return  voyage,  the  first  and  second  mates  both  died,  and  the  captain 
agreed  with  him  to  act  in  the  capacity  of  mate.  He  then  sailed  fot 
Calcutta,  first  mate  of  the  Hindostan,  Indiaman.  His  thrifty  and 
careful  habits  and  good  principles  soon  placed  him  fairly  before  the 
wind,  on  the  great  voyage  of  life,  with  excellent  common  sense,  for 
his  compass  ;  the  good  old  age  of  an  honest  man,  for  his  port  of  desti 
nation  ;  and  the  humble  hope  of  eternal  life,  for  his  best  bower  ar  chor, 
in  a  better  world.  He  had  amassed  a  handsome  property,  and  was 
redolvod  to  abandon  the  sea.  "  Hundreds  of  times,"  said  he,  "  in 
every  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  upon  almost  every  sea,  in  sun' 
shine  and  in  storm,  I  've  read  over  your  seven  good  rules,  fathei 
Simpson ;  and  here  I  am,  by  God's  blessing,  safe  in  port,  and 
anchored  alongside  the  best  friends  I  have  in  the  world.  Now  it 
may  seem  an  odd  freak,  for  a  fellow,  that  has  had  a  capful  of  wind 
from  every  breeze,  and  been  blown  about  the  world,  as  I  have  been, 
to  drop  his  last  anchor,  in  Groggy  Harbor.  But  I  've  come  home 
to  live  with  ye,  mother,  for  the  rest  of  my  days."  "  God  bless  ye 
for  it,  Billy!"  said  the  old  woman.  "  You  're  too  big  now,  dear, 
for  the  little  room  in  the  gable,  where  you  used  to  lodge,  you  know; 
and,  as  I  've  left  off  teaching  the  children,  for  ten  years  past,  you 
can. have  your  bed  in  the  school-room."  Captain  Lane  shook  the 
kind-hearted  old  creature  by  the  hand,  and  bade  her  give  herself  no 
trouble  about  the  bed-room.  He  then  told  them,  that  he  would  go 

aboard,  and  despatch  the  mate  with  the  ship  up  to  the  port  of , 

and  return  to  pass  a  few  days  with  his  friends. 

The  captain  had  scarcely  quitted  the  dwelling  of  friend  Ephraim, 
before  it  was  literally  taken  by  storm.  Gossips  and  idlers,  without 
number,  flocked  about  the  door,  to  satisfy  their  curiosity.  As  to 
the  old  boatswain,  nothing  could  be  gotten  out  of  him.  He  held  up 
his  knowledge,  as  a  cow  of  good  resolution  holds  up  her  milk  Man 
of  business,  as  he  was  himself,  he  became  wearied  and  disgusted 
with  the  sight  of  such  a  troop  of  idlers  and  ragamuffins,  crawling 
about  the  grog-shop,  like  flies  about  a  sugar  hogshead,  and  becom 
ing  more  and  more  tipsy,  as  the  sun  advanced  to  the  zenith.  A  lit 
tle  out  of  patience  withal,  at  being  left  so  long  upon  his  post,  he 
had  become  as  uneasy  as  a  grampus,  left  upon  a  sand-bar,  by  the 
falling  tide. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  captain's  chest  was  sent  ashore,  and  carried 
to  old  Peggy's  house;  and,  shortly  after,  he  followed,  himself.  It 
was  not  loner  before  the  anchor  was  up,  and  the  ship  under  way. 
8hti  speedily  vanished ;  and  wir.h  her,  the  high  hopes  ard  expecta 
tion  <.•;  Mr.  Simon  Spicket,  that  eminent  distributer  of  death  and 
by  the  gill. 


68  trROGGY  HARBOR. 

It  was  a  bright  day  for  old  Peggy  Lane ;  and,  as  we  have  no 
gauge  for  the  pleasure  she  enjoyed,  we  leave  it  to  the  reader's  imag 
ination.  In  the  evening,  that  is,  at  four  o'clock,  —  for  a  village  and 
a  metropolitan  evening  are  very  different  affairs,  —  she  walked  up  to 
Ephraim  Simpson's,  to  take  tea,  leaning  with  great  apparent  satis 
faction  upon  the  captain's  arm ;  now  and  then  casting  a  glance  at  the 
neighboring  windows,  as  she  went  along ;  and  evidently  gathering 
additional  comfo^k  from  every  eye,  that  she  happened  to  encounter. 

The  little  urchin,  whom  she  had  rescued  from  a  watery  grave,  had 
made  an  impression  upon  Peggy's  mind,  at  the  age  of  thrty,  which 
would  not  give  place  to  any  other,  at  the  age  of  threescore  and  ten ; 
and  it  was  rather  amusing  to  see  the  zealous  old  creature,  in  the 
pride  of  her  heart,  introducing  to  those,  whom  she  met,  as  her  "  pool 
little  Billy,"  a  stout  master  mariner  of  forty-five,  with  a  pair  of 
whiskers,  that  might  have  excited  the  envy  of  a  Spanish  admiral 

Friend  Ephraim  and  his  wife,  with  Peggy  and  the  captain, 
enjoyed  as  much  happiness,  over  the  neat  little  tea-board,  as  could 
well  be  crowded  into  the  compass  of  three  or  four  hours.  A  thou 
sand  recollections  were  brought  to  life ;  and  important  incidents,  in 
the  pilgrimage  of  one  party,  were  freely  exchanged,  for  the  not  less 
interesting  experiences  of  the  other.  At  length  old  Peggy  and  the 
captain  returned  to  the  schoolma'am's  cottage,  where  the  school 
room  had  been  neatly  prepared  for  his  reception.  After  they  had 
parted,  and  he  had  been  for  some  time  in  bed,  she  opened  the  door, 
with,  "It's  only  your  mother,  dear;  I  thought  I  would  come  and 
tuck  ye  up.  I  came  just  now,  but  I  listened,  and  heard  ye  saying 
your  prayers,  like  a  good  child,  Billy ;  and  I  rejoiced  that  ye  had 
not  forgotten  all  that  I  taught  ye  when  ye  was  little."  With  this 
and  her  blessing,  she  took  her  leave  for  the  night. 

Captain  Lane  was  up  with  the  sun,  and  had  taken  a  stretch 
across  the  town,  before  breakfast.  "  Why,  where  have  you  been, 
Billy?"  said  the  old  woman,  as  he  entered  the  door;  "come,  here 
is  some  hot  coffee  for  ye,  and  a  beautiful  scrawd,  and  some  cuimers, 
that  Tommy  Loring,  the  little  boy,  that  does  my  chores,  has  caught 
on  purpose  for  ye,  this  very  morning." 

As  he  sat  down  to  breakfast  with  a  good  relish,  "  Mother,"  said 
he,  "I've  just  been  across  the  harbor;  the  sun  is  n't  two  hours 
high  ;  I  've  been  in  a  multitude  of  cities  and  towns  of  all  sizes,  in 
almost  every  part  of  the  world ;  and  I  never  saw  so  many  lazy, 
intemperate  looking  people,  at  this  hour  of  iho  morning,  in  any  placa 
upon  earth."  "  You  know  it  always  was  so,  my  child,"  vsaid  J»KC  ; 
"  Groggy  Harbor  will  be  Groggy  Harbor;  the  name  will  &d."k,  t'U 
ye  change  the  nature.  It 's  bad  enough  to  be  sure.  There  are  &•*» 


GROGGY   HARBOR.  69 

«ld  folks  left  among  us  now.  There  is  our  next  neighbor,  Wiley, 
dying  of  a  consumption,  all  owing,  as  the  doctor  says,  to  hard  drink 
ing.  His  father  died  just  so.  Watkins,  the  miller,  watched  with 
poor  Wiley,  last  Friday  night.  Ye  know,  my  child,  they  always 
leave  refreshments  for  the  watchers,  and  Watkins  drank  a  whole 
bottle  of  Geneva,  and  was  found  in  the  morning,  dead  drunk  upon 
the  floor ;  and  poor  Wiley  groaned  all  night,  with  nobody  to  help 
him.  Parson  Twist  preached  a  sermon  against  drunkenness,  last 
year ;  and  he  drew  a  picture  of  a  drunken  man,  in  his  discourse ; 
the  next  day  a  great  many  went  to  him,  and  each  one  told  him,  if 
he  made  any  more  fun  of  him  in  the  meeting-house,  he  would  never 
enter  it  again."  "  Mother,"  said  the  captain,  "  this  is  too  tough 
for  me  ;  I  shall  heave  up  my  anchor,  if  it 's  going  to  blow  a  drunken 
hurricane,  at  this  rate,  all  the  rest  of  my  days.  I  '11  go  up  to  father 
Ephraim's  and  talk  with  him  about  it,  and  see  if  we  can't  boxhaul 
some  of  these  craft,  that  are  head  on  for  destruction,  since  theie  's  no 
mode  of  getting  'em  about,  the  old-fashioned  way.  At  any  rate," 
he  continued,  observing  that  poor  old  Peggy  appeared  dejected,  at 
the  bare  possibility  of  a  separation,  "we  shall  never  part  company 
again,  my  good  mother,  unless,  upon  a  signal,  that  all  must  obey." 
He  found  the  Quaker  and  his  wife  reading  their  Bible  together. 
"  Sit  thee  down,  Billy,"  said  the  old  man,  and  continued  to  the  end 
of  the  chapter.  When  he  had  finished  and  laid  aside  the  book,  the 
captain  observed,  *that  he  should  like  to  hear  a  few  more  particulars 
of  those  whom  he  had  once  known.  "  Pray,"  continued  he,  "  what 
has  become  of  Sam  Legget,  who  worked  with  me  in  your  shop, 
father  Simpson?"  "Poor  lad,"  said  the  Quaker,  "he  did  very 
well  till  they  made  him  a  corporal  in  the  militia ;  his  whole  soul 
seemed  then  to  be  absorbed  in  military  glory  ;  he  never  made  a  good 
joint  after  that ;  he  was  out  treating  and  trooping  a  great  part  of  his 
time,  and  became  good  for  nothing.  I  have  often  caught  him,  after 
1  had  laid  out  his  morning's  work,  shouldering  firelock,  and  going 
through  his  exercise  with  a  handsaw.  Poor  lad,  he  died  a  drunk 
ard."  "  What  became  of  Peter  Watson,  who  lived  over  the  way?" 
"  Watson  became  intemperate,  as  well  as  his  wife  ;  they  came  upon 
the  town  ;  both  are  dead  ;  and  their  children  are  in  the  poor-house." 
"  And  Barnes,  the  blacksmith?"  continued  the  captain.  "  He  yet 
li/eth,"  said  the  Q.uaker ;  "  he  was  put  into  the  work-house  MO^e 
than  ten  years  ?aro,  ?-nd  is  .vahject  to  that  kind  of  del!riup>,  which 
afflicteth  the  ioiompKTg.te  ."  "  'A' bat  a  scourge  intemperance  has 
been  upon  the  witii  !"  e T/cIrJir..^-  the  captain  ;  "  why  pour  old  Par 
son  Merrit  must  i~  w,  Lj.Z  ill  \u-  ;k  in  tu  aihg  the  wicked  to  repent 
ance."  "It  is  no.;  -^'.f-vaulj/'  ?eioi««J  Ui«3  tid  rc&r.,  •'t 


70  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

that,  which  is  evil  of  any,  especially  of  those,  who  preach  the- 
gospe* ;  but  few  had  greater  occasion  than  friend  Merrit,  to  cry  out, 
in  the  words  of  holy  writ,  Pray  for  us.  He  was  verily  a  man  of 
like  passions  with  ourselves.  He  fell  into  intemperate  habits  before 
he  died."  "Is  it  possible!"  exclaimed  the  captain;  "but  pray, 
who  is  that  wretched  object,  the  woman  yonder,  who  is  bowing,  in 
a  strange  manner,  to  everyone  she  meets — you  see  her  dancing 
along,  don't  you?"  "Yea,  Billy,  I  see  the  poor  unhappy  child; 
she  is  harmless ;  and  they  let  her  go  her  own  way,"  replied  the  old 
man.  "  Ah,"  said  Margery  Simpson,  who  had  risen  from  hei 
chair,  and  was  looking  at  this  poor  being,  who  had  decked  herseli 
with  fall  wild  flowers,  and  appeared  wonderfully  merry;  "ah," 
said  she,  "  the  poor  thing  is  in  her  happy  vein  to-day  ;  to-morrow, 
no  doubt,  you  may  see  her  sitting  between  the  graves  of  her  hus 
band  and  her  son,  and  dividing  those  flowers  between  them,  with  as 
much  care,  as  though  she  were  dividing  a  treasure  into  equal 
parts."  "Surely,  Billy,"  said  old  Ephraim,  "  thee  rememberest 
Jenny  Jones."  "  Is  that  miserable  creature  Jenny  Jones,"  said 
the  captain,  "  the  pretty  girl  with  red  cheeks  and  black  eyes,  whose 
fine  voice  I  used  to  talk  about,  when  I  came  from  meeting  1" 
"  Yea,  verily,"  replied  the  old  man. 

By  the  aid  of  a  mischievous  memory,  the  captain  had  before  him 
a  perfect  vision  of  the  past :  he  almost  beheld  the  trim  little  girl, 
with  her  blue  gown  and  neat  straw  bonnet,  with  her  singing-book 
in  her  hand,  tripping  across  the  green,  of  a  Sabbath  morning.  The 
very  peal  of  the  village  bell  rang,  at  that  moment,  in  his  ear ; 
and  he  beheld  the  countenances  of  the  loiterers  about  the  porch. 
All  these  associations  came  at  once  upon  his  mind,  and,  contrasted 
with  the  emblem  of  misery  before  him,  brought  the  tears  into  his 
eyes.  "  Is  she  intemperate?"  he  inquired.  "  Nay,"  said  his  old 
friend.  "  I  never  heard,  that  she  was ;  her  tale  is  a  brief  one  ;  she 
married  Jack  Lawson,  the  fisherman,  against  her  father's  will :  poor 
old  farmer  Jones,  he  was  broken  down  by  his  family  trouble,  when 
Jenny  los;  her  reason.  Jack  Lawson  was  a  handsome  lad,  but  in 
a  bad  way  from  his  youth.  He  soon  died  a  profane  drunkard,  and 
left  her  a  widow,  very  poor,  with  a  child  to  support.  Bad  as  he 
was,  Jenny  took  his  death  deeply  to  heart :  their  loves  were  young 
lores,  Billy;  and  nothing  roused  her,  but  her  sense  of  duty  to  the 
child.  8ue  called  it  John,  after  the  ft-thsr.  She  worked  very  hard, 
and  supported  herself  and  h^r  boy ;  <^d  I  never  heard  a  word 
ana^nst  hei.  Little  John  fell  ea>  lv  iatc  the  society  of  bad  boys,  and 
acqvir.3.'.  a  lelish  for  spirit.  Thee,  no  iiouot,  r-^nemberest  Jerry 
Tappit,  ths,t  kept  the  little  gro£-fifct.j»  h.  Lot's  alley?"  "  The  fel- 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  71 

low  who  lost  his  eye  in  a  brawl?"  said  the  captain.  "  The  same," 
replied  father  Ephraim;  "poor  Jenny  knew,  that  her  son  had  a 
great  amount  of  spirit  at  Tappit's  shop,  and  she  had  often  forbid 
him.  At  length,  John  was  brought  home  dead.  He  was  killed 
with  a  stone,  in  a  drunken  fight,  in  Lot's  alley.  Jenny  gave  a 
shriek,  when  she  first  saw  the  dead  body  of  her  child ;  but  her  rea 
son  was  gone,  from  that  hour.  A  merciful  Providence  extinguished 
the  lamp,  that  she  might  not  so  clearly  survey  the  measure  of  her 
misery.  From  that  time,  she  was  in  the  habit  of  going,  three  or 
four  times  a  day,  to  Jerry  Tappit's  shop  ;  sometimes  forbidding  him 
from  selling  John  any  more  liquor,  as  though  he  were  still  living ; 
or  asking  if  her  boy  was  there ;  and,  at  other  times,  in  the  most 
beseeching  manner,  urging  him  to  go  with  her  and  help  wake  up 
her  poor  Johnny.  Jerry  was  greatly  annoyed  by  the  poor  creature, 
and  once  he  threatened  to  beat  her,  if  she  came  there  again  ;  but  Jim 
Dixon,  who  was  passing  by  at  the  time,  threatened,  in  his  heathen 
ish  way,  to  knock  in  his  deadlights,  if  he  so  much  as  laid  the  weight 
91  his  finger  upon  a  hair  of  her  head ;  '  You  have  killed  her  boy,' 
said  he,  'and  now  ye  would  kill  the  poor  creature  herself.'  "  "It 
was  unseemly,  no  doubt,"  said  old  Margery,  "  for  Dixon  to  talk, 
in  that  inconvenient  way,  or  to  threaten  bodily  harm  ;  but  all  agreed, 
that  it  was  kind  in  him  to  interfere,  and  save  crazy  Jenny  from 
abuse ;  and  the  more,  as  it  was  well  known  she  had  refused  Jim 
Dixon  for  Jack  Lawsbn's  sake."  "  Jim  Dixon?"  said  the  captain, 
as  he  rubbed  away  the  tears  from  ids  eyes,  "  that  's  the  young  man 
that  brought  my  ship  into  the  harbor ;  a  smart  young  fellow,  but 
even  he  asked  for  his  dram,  before  the  anchor  was  down."  "  Yea," 
said  old  Ephraim,  "  the  very  best  of  them  think  it  impossible  to  live 
without  it :  but  Jim  is  decent  and  well  to  pass  in  the  world,  and  a 
civil,  obliging  lad."  "  And  where,"  said  the  captain,  "  is  the  man 
who  kept  the  tavern,  at  the  sign  of  the  Demijohn]"  "  Dear  me, 
Billy,"  said  father  Ephraim,  "which  one  dos't  thee  mean?  nearly 
twenty,  I  should  think,  have  kept  the  Demijohn  tavern,  since  thee 
vventest  away ;  and  I  do  not  remember  but  two  temperate  men 
among  them :  there  was  Gookin,  I  never  heard  that  he  was  ever 
drunk ;  he  had  an  amazing  strong  head.  He  had  kept  the  house 
only  three  days,  when  he  was  arrested  for  stealing  a  horse,  the 
year  before.  And  there  was  a  Mr.  Barker,  who  tried  it  for  a  fort 
night ;  and,  hearing  that  a  man  had  hung  himself,  after  getting 
drunk  at  his  house,  he  became  conscience-stricken,  and  gave  up  the 
business."  "  Do  tell  me,  father  Simpson,"  continued  the  captain, 
"  what  was  the  end  of  Windsor,  the  barber?"  "  His  was  an  awful 
case,"  replied  the  old  man;  "he  became  intemperate,  and  cut  so 


72  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

many  of  his  customers,  that  he  lost  his  business.  Thee  remember- 
est  'Miah  Fidget ;  he  was  a  fiery  little  fellow  ;  Windsor,  once,  when 
he  was  shaving  Fidget,  and  very  tipsy,  cut  him  terribly.  Fidget 
di'1  not  bear  it  like  a  Christian,  Billy,  but  gave  the  poor  barber  a 
teiriblo  flogging.  Windsor  became  a  miserable  sot,  lost  every  cus- 
x>mer.  murdered  his  child,  and  his  wife,  and  cut  his  throat,  with  his 
own  razor."  "  Mercy  on  us !"  said  Captain  Lane ;  "  I  should  almost 
think  you  were  reading  the  log-book  of  Gomorrah  :  but  do  tell  me 
what  became  of  Archer,  the  apothecary?"  "  Died  a  drunkard," 
father  Ephraim  replied.  "  He  was  rather  careless  long  before  he 
died.  Parson  Merrit  applied  to  him  for  a  dose  of  magnesia,  and  he 
gave  him  a  heaping  tea-spoonful  of  tartar  emetic,  and  it  nearly 
killed  him."  "  I  will  ask  after  one  more  ;  how  did  Moses  Mattock, 
the  sexton,  turn  out?"  "  Very  badly,  Billy,  I  am  sorry  to  say  it. 
It  was  thought  he  would  have  done  pretty  well,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  unchristian  practice  of  treating,  at  funerals.  The  Poodle  fami 
ly,  who,  thee  mayest  remember,  were  very  poor,  and  stood  in  great 
need  of  everything  but  pride,  never  forgave  Moses,  for  his  shocking 
misdemeanor,  when  their  grandmother  was  buried.  When  the  olc 
lady  had  been  lifted,  and  put  upon  the  hearse,  Msoes,  who  had 
taken  more  spirit  than  usual,  for  the  Poodles  treated  very  freely,  to 
keep  up  their  respectability,  instead  of  driving  to  the  grave-yard  at  a 
decent  pace,  forgot  himself  and  the  occasion  entirely,  and,  setting 
off  upon  a  trot,  drove  the  old  lady,  to  the  scandal  of  the  mourners, 
to  the  door  of  Deacon  Atherton's  grog-shop.  This  conduct  was 
more  offensive  to  the  family,  because  it  was  the  very  shop  where 
the  old  lady  had  all  her  Jamaica." 

"  Pray,"  said  the  captain,  after  a  pause  of  some  length,  "  are 
there  more  or  fewer  drunkards,  in  the  harbor  now,  than  when  I 
was  a  boy?"  "I  think  the  increase  of  drunkards  is  beyond  the 
increase  of  the  people,"  answered  the  old  man.  "  Now,  father 
Simpson,"  said  Captain  Lane,  drawing  his  chair  more  closely  to  the 
old  man's,  and  taking  him  by  the  hand,  "  look  here ;  I  've  no  kith 
nor  kin,  that  I  know  of,  in  the  world.  There  's  nothing  that  would 
suit  me  better  than  casting  anchor,  for  life,  alongside  of  you  and 
mother  Lane.  By  God's  blessing,  I  've  enough  and  to  spare.  But 
nothing  will  persuade  me  to  look  for  moorings  here,  unices  we  can 
contrive  a  plan  to  change  the  naturf  of  the  bottom."  "  I  appre 
hend  thee,"  said  the  Quaker,  "there  are  yet  a  few,  in  this  place, 
who  would  lend  a  willing  hand  in  a  godly  work.  They  wisely 
know,  that  their  strength  is  in  sitting  still,  and  waiting  for  the  ap 
pointed  time."  "The  spirit  moveth  me,  Billy,"  said  Margery, 
'*  to  say  thee  mayest  be  the  means,  in  the  hand  of  Providence,  of 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  73 

working  a  wondrous  change,  in  a  wicked  place."  '*  Thee  hast  seen 
enough  of  the  world,  my  son,"  said  the  Quaker,  "  to  know,  that  it 
is  necessary  to  be  careful  in  removing  the  idols  of  any  people, 
whether  they  be  worshipped,  under  the  form  of  a  stone  image  or  a 
stone  jug.  The  temples  of  Baal  were  protected  by  the  laws  of  the 
land-  so  are  these  modern  abominations,  wki«h  we  call  grog-srups. 
Those,  who  minister  to  the  '  PUBLIC  GOOD,'  may  well  rely  on  the 
public  support."  "  I  should  like  to  have  those  fellows,  that  are 
making  all  this  misery,  on  board  my  ship  for  a  couple  of  hours. 
I  'd  keelhaul  every  mother's  son  of  'em,"  said  Captain  Lane ;  and 
he  really  looked  as  if  he  would.  "  Well,  Billy,"  continued  old 
Ephraim,  with  a  smile,  "  I  think  I  may  safely  say,  there  is  not  one 
of  them,  who  will  go  on  board  thy  ship  for  any  such  purpose.  1 
cannot  deny,  when  I  look  upon  their  work,  that  they  deserve  their 
reward  :  but  we  must  obey  the  laws."  "  I  know  it,  father  Simp 
son,"  rejoined  the  honest-hearted  sailor  ;  "  but,  as  you  used  to  say, 
out  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh.  Why  not  speak  to  the  select 
men,  and  get  the  town  clerk  to  pipe  all  hands  and  overhaul  the 
matter?"  "  Hast  thee  not  read  of  Satan  rebuking  sin?"  said  the 
old  man.  "  The  selectmen  are  xall  three  dealers  in  spirit ;  and  the 
town  clerk  keepeth  the  Demijohn  tavern,  at  this  present  time 
Nay,  Billy,  the  better  way  would  be,  to  collect  as  many  of  the  men, 
women,  and  children,  as  can  be  gathered  together,  and  enlighten 
their  minds,  by  discussing  the  subject  in  a  Christian  manner ;  but 
the  difficulty  lieth  in  this,  we  have  no  speakers  on  our  side.  Par 
son  Twist  will  be  lukewarm  in  the  matter,  and  though  he  would 
take  an  active  part,  if  it  were  likely  to  be  popular,  it  will  be  just 
the  other  way.  Teazle,  the  lawyer,  will  make  a  long  speech,  in 
favor  of  the  dram-sellers ;  nobody  will  have  courage  to  answer  him, 
and  I  fear  we  may  be  worse  off,  than  if  we  had  never  stirred  in  the 
matter  at  all."  "  Father  Ephraim,"  said  the  sailor,  slapping  his 
hand  upon  the  table,  "  give  yourself  no  trouble  about  a  speaker: 

I  must  go  up  to ,  to  look  after  my  vessel  and  cargo  ;  arrange 

your  meeting,  for  this  day  week ;  and  I  '11  be  here  upon  the  spot, 
and  bring  ye  a  speaker ;  and  if  any  lawyer  in  Groggy  Harbor  can 
get  the  weather-gauge  of  him,  never  trust  me  again."  "  And  pray 
Billy,  who  may  he  be?"  inquired  the  old  Quaker.  "  Leave  that 
to  me,"  he  replied ;  "  give  me  credit,  father  Simpson,  for  a  little 
discretion,  after  having  been  knocked  about,  for  thirty  years,  among 
Jews  and  Gentiles.  Only  get  the  whole  town  together,  in  the  meet 
ing-house.  Charter  a  hundred  of  the  lazy  loons  I  see  about  the 
streets,  and  send  notices  to  all  quarters,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.' 

VOL.  I.  7 


74  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

"Heaven  guide  thee,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man;  "  something 
telleth  me  it  should  be  so  ;  I  will  do  even  as  thee  sayest." 

Ephraim  Simpson  fulfilled  all  his  ordinary  engagements  to  the 
letter.  Upon  the  present  occasion  he  was  particularly  active ;  and 
he  was  rejoiced  to  find  a  larger  number  than  he  expected,  who  were 
willing  to  cooperate  in  this  good  work.  One  was  roused,  hy  the 
recollection  of  a  ruined  child  ;  another  was  urged  on  to  the  holy 
war,  by  the  remembrance  of  a  parent,  whose  gray  hairs  had  been 
Drought  to  the  grave,  with  less  of  sorrow  than  of  shame ;  a  third 
was  stimulated,  by  the  living  emblem  of  squalid  wretchedness,  in 
the  person  of  a  drunken  brother,  or  a  drunken  sister ;  a  fourth  had 
long  sighed  for  this  very  occasion,  to  break  forth  against  a  curse, 
which  had  destroyed  the  peace  of  his  fireside,  and  left  him,  the 
husband  of  an  habitual  drunkard.  Friend  Ephraim  had  good  rea 
son  to  be  cheered  by  the  result  of  his  labors,  thus  far.  The  select 
men  were,  at  first,  opposed  to  granting  the  use  of  the  meeting 
house  ;  but  finally  consented,  in  the  full  confidence  of  giving  the 
"fanatics,"  as  the  friends  of  temperance  were  called,  a  complete 
overthrow.  Notices  of  the  intended  meeting  were  posted  up,  in 
various  parts  of  the  harbor,  and  no  pains  were  spared,  to  ensure  a 
full  attendance  :  it  was  particularly  stated,  that  a  distinguished  friend 
of  temperance,  not  resident  in  the  town,  would  deliver  his  senti 
ments  upon  the  occasion. 

The  next  day,  notices  were  put  up  in  the  following  words :  "  At 
a  large  and  respectable  meeting  of  the  grocers  of  Groggy  Harbor, 
held  last  evening,  at  the  store  of  Mr.  Simon  Spicket,  it  was  unani 
mously  resolved,  that  we  view  with  deep  regret  the  proceedings  of  the 
self-styled  friends  of  temperance."  This  resolution  was  signed, 
Simon  Spicket,  Chairman.  Mark  Mooney,  jun.,  Secretary.  The 
effect  of  this  notice  was  rather  to  increase  the  notoriety  of  the  con 
templated  meeting,  and  to  stimulate  the  little  band  of  Spartans  to 
redoubled  exertions. 

Parson  Twist,  as  the  meeting  was  to  be  held  in  his  house  of  wor 
ship,  had  been  requested  to  open  it  with  prayer.  He  excused 
himself  on  the  score  of  indisposition,  and  expressed  a  fear  that  the 
friends  of  temperance  were  going  "too  fast  and  too  far:"  accord 
ingly,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sterling,  from  an  inland  town,  was  invited  to 
attend,  and  cheerfully  accepted. 

The  thirty-first  day  of  October  arrived,  the  day  appointed  for  the 
meeting,  and  a  more  delightful  fall  morning  I  never  beheld.  The 
hour  appointed  was  one  o'clock,  p.  M.,  and,  for  more  than  two  hours 
preceding,  chaises,  wagons  and  saddle  horses  were  seen  arriving  from 
•Jl  quarters,  and  multitudes  of  men,  women,  and  children  on  foot; 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  76 

and,  before  the  time  appointed,  it  was  calculated,  by  competent 
judges,  there  were  just  about  ten  times  the  number  collected,  that 
commonly  attended  on  the  sermons  of  Parson  Twist. 

No  person,  at  this  moment,  was  apparently  so  very  uneasy,  as 
fathei  Ephraim.  He  repeatedly  went  to  the  door,  and  looked  up 
and  down  the  road,  with  an  air  of  anxiety.  At  length  the  meeting 
was  called  to  order,  and  old  Captain  Barney,  a  respectable  officer, 
who  lost  an  arm  in  the  Revolution,  was  appointed  chairman.  It 
was  moved  and  seconded,  that  the  meeting  be  opened  with  prayer, 
by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sterling,  and  by  reading  such  portion  of  Scripture, 
as  he  might  think  appropriate.  The  venerable  man  was  ascending 
the  pulpit  stairs,  for  the  performance  of  the  duty  required  of  him, 
when  friend  Ephraim  Simpson's  anxiety  was  relieved,  by  the  appear 
ance  of  Captain  Lane,  entering  the  door,  followed  by  a  large,  hard- 
favored  man,  about  sixty  years  of  age,  with  a  rolling  gait,  and 
wearing  a  shaggy  pea-jacket.  Jim  Dixon,  who  knew  Captain  Lane 
and  the  boatswain,  provided  them  with  seats. 

Never  was  an  unsettled  assembly  reduced  more  immediately  into 
a  state  of  silence,  than  was  the  promiscuous  group,  convened  upon 
the  present  occasion,  by  the  first  words,  distinctly  and  impressively 
uttered  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Sterling.  "  Oh  Lord,  what  is  man  !" 
and  the  pause  which  succeeded  was  the  silence  of  the  grave.  His 
prayer  was  marked  by  an  unusual  tone  of  deep  religious  sensibility. 
Every  irrelevant  feeling  in  the  audience  was  subdued,  as  by  a  spell. 
Even  Squire  Teazle,  the  attorney,  who  had  entered  the  meeting 
house,  with  a  consequential,  and  even  a  triumphant  expression,  as 
though  he  had  somewhere  discovered  already  an  omen  of  victory, 
was  evidently  made  to  feel  that  he  was  in  the  temple  of  the  Lord  ; 
that  the  cause  to  be  tried  was  not  simply  a  question  between 
man  and  his  fellow,  but  between  God  and  man.  After  the  prayer, 
the  holy  man  read,  in  a  solemn  and  interesting  manner,  the  one 
hundred  and  seventh  Psalm.  The  effect  was  evident  upon  the  whole 
assembly,  when  he  pronounced  those  appropriate  passages  from  the 
Twenty-third  to  the  twenty-eighth  verse  :  "  They  that  go  down  to  the 
sea  in  ships,  and  occupy  their  business  in  great  waters  ;  these  men  see 
the  works  of  the  Lord,  and  his  wonders  in  the  deep.  For  at  his  word 
the  stormy  wind  ariseth,  which  lifteth  up  the  waves  thereof.  They  arc 
carried  up  to  the  heaven,  and  down  again  to  the  deep ;  their  soul  melt 
fth  away  because  of  the  trouble.  They  reel  to  and  fro,  and  stagger 
like  a  drunken  man,  and  are  at  their  wit's  end.  So  when  they  cry 
unto  the  Lord  in  their  trouble,  he  dclivereth  them  out  of  their  distress.' 

The  rum  party,  knowing  that  Captain  Barney  had  always  been 
in  the  habit  of  using  spirit,  had  counted  on  his  influence ;  or,  ai 


76  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

least,  that  he  would  not  be  against  them.  They  were  confounded, 
therefore,  when,  in  opening  the  meeting,  he  plainly  stated,  that, 
whatever  good  ardent  spirit  produced,  the  evi.  A^as  so  much  greater, 
that  he  should  not  be  sorry  to  know,  that  it  was  all  cast  into  tho 
sea.  He  clearly  set  forth  the  objects  of  the  meeting,  and  requested 
any  persons  present,  strangers  as  well  as  residents,  to  express  their 
opinions.  He  then  resumed  the  chair,  and  a  pause  of  some  length 
ensued. 

At  length,  a  good-looking  man,  rather  above  the  middle  age,  rose, 
with  an  air  of  diffidence,  and  addressed  the  chairman.  "  Nobody 
seems  willing  to  say  anything  upon  this  business,"  said  he,  "  and 
I  '11  trouble  the  meeting  with  a  few  words.  My  farm,  as  you  know, 
Mr.  Chairman,  is  three  miles  from  the  harbor.  If  it  had  been  thirty, 
I  might  still  have  been  the  father  of  two  likely  boys,  who  fell  vic 
tims  to  habits  of  intemperance,  contracted  by  visiting  the  harbor, 
and  the  dram-shops.  I  have  no  plan  to  propose,  to  remedy  the  evil, 
which  is  every  year  carrying  young  men,  as  well  as  old  ones,  to 
their  graves.  I  trust  some  remedy  will  be  provided.  I  came  here 
to  give  my  humble  experience,  and  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

The  next  person  who  addressed  the  assembly  was  Mr.  Mixer,  the 
keeper  of  the  Demijohn.  "  Mr.  Chairman,"  said  he,  *'  farmer 
Jenkins,  who  has  just  spoke  about  his  boys,  feels  a  kind  of  ugly 
towards  me,  because  his  boys  got  liquor  at  my  tavern :  now"  — 
"  Stop,  Mr.  Mixer,"  said  the  chairman.  "  You  are  out  of  order : 
the  only  points  to  be  considered  are  the  evils  of  intemperance  and 
their  remedy ;  we  can  have  no  personal  allusions."  "  Well,  sir,  all 
I  has  to  say  is  this,  let  folks  keep  their  boys  at  home,  and  keep  at 
home  themselves  if  they  will.  I  'se  got  a  license,  and  why  ha'n't 
I  as  good  a  right  to  sell  liquor  with  a  license,  as  farmer  Jenkins  has 
to  sell  his  corn  without  one?  That  's  all  I  want  to  know."  This 
produced  a  little  cheering  among  the  rum  party,  which  was  promptly 
checked  by  the  chairman,  who  remarked,  that  the  meeting  had  been 
begun  in  a  Christian  spirit,  and  that,  while  he  was  in  the  chair,  it 
should  so  be  continued  and  ended.  Two  or  three  persons,  in  liquor, 
had  risen  to  add  ress  the  chair ;  but  this  remark  and  the  well  known 
character  of  Captain  Barney  reduced  them  to  order. 

Silence  having  been  restored,  Mr.  Teazle,  the  attorney,  com 
menced  a  speech  of  nearly  an  hour's  length.  The  commencement 
was  rather  unfortunate.  "I  rise,"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Chairman,  not 
admitting,  on  behalf  of  my  clients,  any  responsibility  to  this  assem 
bly."  "Pray,  Mr.  Teazle,"  said  the  chairman,  "you  speak  of 
your  clients;  by  whom  have  you  been  retained?"  Teazle  was 
•bviouslv  confused,  and  Spicket  hung  down  his  head  I  beg  par- 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  77 

don,"  continued  th»  attorney,  "  my  fellow- townsmen,  I  should  have 
said."  The  points  of  his  argument  were  these.  The  traffic  is>  a 
lawf  il  traffic,  and  we  have  no  right  to  interfere  with  it ;  —  people 
may  drink  or  not  —  they  are  free  agents  ;  and,  if  they  become  drunk 
ards,  the  fault  and  its  consequences  are  their  own  ;  —  temperance  is 
a  good  thing,  and  liquor  ought  not  to  be  sold  to  drunkards,  and  the 
law  foibids  it ;  —  if  we  want  any  remedy,  beyond  a  man's  own  moral 
power  of  self-restraint,  we  must  ask  it  of  the  legislature  ;  —  combi 
nations  to  ruin  the  business  of  a  particular  class  of  men  are  illegal 
and  morally  wrong.  Mr.  Teazle  ran  over  these  grounds  of  argu 
ment,  hi  every  variety  of  way  ;  and,  to  do  him  justice,  with  not  a 
little  ingenuity.  When  he  concluded,  there  was  much  satisfaction 
exhibited  on  the  countenances  of  the  dealers,  and  their  numerous 
customers. 

The  chairman,  after  a  long  pause,  again  requested  any  person 
present,  who  might  be  so  inclined,  to  express  his  sentiments  upon 
the  subject.  Seeing  no  other  person  disposed  to  take  part  in  the 
discussion,  Captain  Lane  rose  from  his  seat.  He  was  already 
known  to  many  who  were  present,  though  he  had  not  had  any 
opportunity  of  meeting  them  in  a  familiar  way.  "  Mr.  Chairman," 
said  he,  "  it  is  not  my  intention  to  detain  you  many  minutes.  Forty 
years  ago  I  was  cast  away  on  the  reef,  ever  since  called  the 
*  Drunkard's  Ruin.'  By  the  misconduct  of  an  intoxicated  captain, 
the  whole  crew  and  several  passengers,  among  whom  were  both  my 
parents,  were  drowned.  I  was  then  about  five  years  old.  I  see  in 
this  assembly  the  friend  who  saved  me  from  a  watery  grave,  and 
proved  to  me  a  kind  mother.  I  also  see  here  another  friend,  who 
took  me  into  his  family,  to  learn  a  trade,  which  I  afterward  quitted, 
for  the  sea.  When  we  parted,  he  gave  me  much  good  counsel ; 
and,  knowing  the  temptations  of  a  sea-faring  man,  he  particularly 
cautioned  me  to  drink  no  spirit.  I  have  never  tasted  a  drop  in  my 
life.  I  have  been  a  healthy,  and  a  prosperous  man.  I  returned 
here  but  a  short  time  since,  with  the  intention  of  casting  anchor  for 
life.  I  have  been  in  many  harbors,  in  the  course  of  thirty  years, 
but  I  confess,  Mr.  Chairman,  I  have  never  seen  a  town,  where 
drinking  spirit  seemed  to  be  so  much  in  vogue,  and  so  completely 
the  chief  end  of  man,  as  it  seems  to  be  here.  I  move  that  it  is  expe 
dient  to  get  up  a  society  forthwith,  to  put  down  this  wickedness 
and  folly,  in  some  way  or  other." 

The  captain's  motion  was  seconded  by  several  voices,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  had  made  a  favorable  impression  on  the  assembly. 

The  chairman  then  stated  the  motion,  as  usual,  and  that  it  had  been 
§econded  from  various  quarters.  In  the  mean  time,  Ephraim  Simp- 

VOL.  i.  7* 


78  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

son  walked  round  to  Captain  Lane,  and  whispered,  "  Hast  thee  not 
failed  in  thy  promise  of  a  speaker,  Billy?"  "All  in  good  time; 
he  '11  be  here  as  soon  as  he  is  needed,"  was  the  reply.  Friend 
Simpson  returned  to  his  place,  and  with  his  broad-brimmed  hat  upon 
his  head,  addressed  the  chairman,  in  the  following  words,  which 
were  listened  to  with  all  that  respect,  which  infallibly  gathers  about 
the  person  of  an  old  man  of  pure  and  irreproachable  life.  "  Friend 
Barney,"  said  he,  "  the  Spirit  moveth  me  to  say  a  few  words.  I 
like  the  motion ;  it  is  meet  and  right.  If  it  prevaileth,  and  I  think 
it  will,  for  the  ringer  of  the  Lord  is  sui-ely  in  this  matter,  thee  may- 
est  live  to  bless  the  day,  and  so  may  we  all,  when  this  poor,  perish 
ing  child  was  cast  upon  our  shore.  This  is  a  great  question,  friend 
Barney ;  it  is  not  a  question  of  dollars  and  cents,  but  a  question 
of  life  and  death,  eternal  life  and  eternal  death."  At  this  moment, 
the  attention  of  every  person  in  the  assembly  was  drawn  suddenly 
to  the  door,  by  a  sharp,  shrill  cry,  and  pour  Jenny  Jones  was  seen 
standing  at  the  entrance.  "  Will  nobody  go  and  help  me  wake  lit 
tle  Johnny?"  said  she.  Some  kind-hearted  person  led  her  gently 
out  of  the  way ;  and  friend  Simpson  continued,  as  follows,  while  she 
was  passing  out  of  the  door ;  —  "It  seemeth  as  if  that  poor  sense 
less  creature  had  been  sent  hither,  by  the  direction  of  Heaven. 
Thee  seest  in  her,  friend  Barney,  the  melancholy  effects  of  this 
deplorable  business.  The  poor  thing  hath  lost  her  husband,  she 
hath  lost  her  son,  she  hath  lost  her  reason  !  Thee  feelest,  I  see 
thee  dost,  friend  Barney,  and  we  all  ought  to  feel  the  force  of  that 
rebuke  upon  our  past  indifference,  which  is  presented,  wherever  this 
wretched  woman  showeth  herself."  Friend  Ephraim  resumed  his 
seat,  and  Captain  Barney  was  not  the  only  person  who  had  put  his 
handkerchief  to  his  eyes. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  said  Mr.  Sulkey,  one  of  the  selectmen  of  the 
town,  "  I  am  no  speechmaker,  but  I  cannot  see  things  going  on  at 
this  rate,  and  keep  my  seat.  If  Captain  Lane  thinks  proper  to  seltle 
down  among  us,  very  well ;  but  he  must  take  us  as  he  finds  us. 
We  want  no  new-fangled  notions.  Why  should  we  set  up  to  be 
wiser  than  our  fathers  ?  Rum  sometimes  does  mischief,  and  what 
good  thing  doesn't,  I  want  to  know?  Folks  that  don't  like  our 
notions  can  go  elsewhere  ;  that 's  all  I  have  to  say.' 

"  Oh,  Captain  Barney,"  cried  an  old  lady  of  respectable  appear 
ance,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  I  never  see  that  man,  without  think 
ing  of  my  poor  George,  that  was  ruined  at  his  store."  The  chair 
man  interrupted  her  by  stating,  that  it  would  be  hardly  proper  foi 
females  to  take  part  in  the  debate.  He  then  observed,  that  it  would 
be  very  agreeable  to  the  assembly  to  near  the  subject  treated  more 
fully,  by  any  person,  on  either  side  of  the  question. 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  79, 

Captain  Lane  again  rose  ;  and  the  general  expectation  of  a  speech 
of  some  length,  was  entirely  disappointed  by  the  following  brief 
remarks.  "Mr.  Chairman,"  said  he,  "  I  do  not  feel  myself  able 
to  treat  the  subject  as  it  deserves.  But  there  is  a  person  in  this 
assembly,  who  has  had  occasion  to  think  deeply  upon  it.  He  is 
here  by  my  request.  He  has  been  the  boatswain  aboard  my  ship 
for  thirteen  years ;  and,  if  you  will  put  up  with  plain  common  sense, 
and  allow  a  little  for  the  language  and  manner  of  an  old  sailor,  he 
will  be  willing  to  give  you  his  views." 

The  chairman  said,  he  had  no  doubt  it  would  be  very  agreeafc  fc 
to  the  meeting.  "  Mr.  Morgan,"  said  Captain  Lane,  "  our  fricnda 
here  will  be  glad  to  have  you  express  your  sentiments  on  the  use 
of  strong  drink."  "  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  old  boatswain ;  and  all 
eyes  were  turned  upon  him,  as  he  rose,  in  his  shaggy  pea  jacket : 
and,  with  his  clean  shirt-collar,  and  tidy  black  silk  neckcloth,  loose, 
gray  locks,  and  sedate  expression  of  face,  he  might  have  passed  for 
the  very  patriarch  of  the  flood.  So  far  as  external  appearance  and 
professional  relation  were  concerned,  this  was  the  very  orator  for 
Groggy  Harbor.  It  was  clearly  indicated,  in  the  countenance  of 
friend  Ephraim,  that  he  was  fearful  of  the  result.  But  the  confi 
dent  expression,  on  the  features  of  Captain  Lane,  seemed  to  say, 
"  It 's  old  Morgan's  watch,  and  I  '11  sleep  at  my  ease." 

"  Please  your  honor,"  said  the  old  boatswain,  "  I  've  come  down 
here  by  the  captain's  orders  ;  and,  if  there  's  anything,  stowed  away 
in  my  old,  weather-beaten  sea-chest  of  a  head,  that  may  be  of  any 
use  to  a  brother  sailor,  or  a  landsman  either,  they  're  heartily  wel 
come.  If  it  will  do  any  good  in  such  a  cause  as  this,  that  you  've 
all  come  here  to  talk  about,  ye  may  go  down  below,  and  overhaul 
the  lockers  of  an  old  man's  heart.  It  may  seem  a  little  strange,  that 
an  old  sailor  should  put  his  helm  hard-a-port  to  get  out  of  the  way  of 
a  glass  o'  grog ;  but,  if  it  was  n't  for  the  shame,  old  as  I  am,  I  'd  be 
tied  up  to  the  rigging,  and  take  a  dozen,  rather  than  suffer  a  drop  to 
go  down  my  hatches."  By  this  time  all  eyes  and  ears  were  riveted 
upon  the  speaker.  His  voice,  though  he  spoke  at  the  natural  pitch 
of  it,  was  remarkably  clear  and  strong ;  and  his  whole  manner  was 
calculated  to  create  a  feeling  of  respect.  He  stood  as  firmly  as  a 
mainmast;  and  a  well  carved  image  of  him,  pea  jacket  and  all, 
would  have  made  a  glorious  figure-head  for  Old  Ironsides.  Father 
Ephraim's  countenance  began  to  lose  its  expression  of  anxiety,  and 
the  old  sailor  continued,  as  follows  : 

"  Please  your  honor,  it 's  no  very  pleasant  matter,  for  a  poor 
eailor,  to  go  over  the  old  shoal,  where  he  lost  a  fine  ship  ;  but  he 
must  be  a  shabby  fellow,  that  wouldn't  stick  up  a  beacon,  if  he 


80  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

could,  and  fetjh  home  soundings  and  bearings,  for  the  good  of  »!! 
others,  who  may  sail  in  those  seas.  I  've  followed  the  sea  for  fifty 
years.  I  had  good  and  kind  parents  —  God  bless 'em  both.  They 
brought  me  up  to  read  the  Bible,  and  keep  the  Sabbath.  My  father 
drank  spirit  sparingly.  My  mother  never  drank  any.  Whenever  I 
asked  for  a  taste,  he  always  was  wise  enough  to  put  me  off :  l  Milk 
for  babes,  my  lad,'  he  used  to  say ;  *  children  must  take  care  how 
they  meddle  with  edge  tools.'  When  I  was  twelve,  I  went  to  sea, 
cabin  boy  of  the  Tippoo  Saib  ;  and  the  captain  promised  my  father 
to  let  me  have  no  grog  ;  and  he  kept  his  word.  After  my  father's 
death,  I  began  to  drink  spirit ;  and  I  continued  to  drink  it  till  I  was 
forty- two.  I  never  remember  to  have  been  tipsy  in  my  life  ;  but  I 
was  greatly  afflicted  with  headache  and  rheumatism,  for  several 
years.  I  got  married  when  I  was  twenty-three.  We  had  two 
boys ;  one  of  them  is  living.  My  eldest  boy  went  to  sea  with  me, 
three  voyages,  and  a  finer  lad" — just  then  something  seemed  to 
stick  in  the  old  boatswain's  throat,  but  he  was  speedily  relieved, 
and  proceeded  in  his  remarks.  —  "I  used  to  think  my  father  was 
over-strict  about  spirit,  and  when  it  was  cold  or  wet,  I  did  n't  see 
any  harm  in  giving  Jack  a  little,  though  he  was  only  fourteen. 
When  he  got  ashore,  where  he  could  serve  out  his  own  allowance, 
I  soon  saw  that  he  doubled  the  quantity.  I  gave  him  a  talk.  He 
promised  to  do  better ;  but  he  did  n't.  I  gave  him  another,  but  he 
grew  worse ;  and  finally,  in  spite  of  all  his  poor  mother's  prayers, 
and  my  own,  he  became  a  drunkard.  It  sunk  my  poor  wife's  spirits 
entirely,  and  brought  mine  to  the  water's  edge.  Jack  became  very 
bad,  and  I  lost  all  control  over  him.  One  day,  I  saw  a  gang  of  men 
and  boys,  poking  fun  at  a  poor  fellow,  who  was  reeling  about  in  the 
middle  of  the  circle,  and  swearing  terribly.  Nobody  likes  to  see  his 
profession  dishonored,  so  I  thought  I  'd  run  down  and  take  him  in 
tow.  Your  honor  knows  what  a  sailor's  heart  is  made  of — what 
do  you  think  I  felt,  when  I  found  it  was  my  own  son  !  — I  could  n't 
resist  the  sense  of  duty  ;  and  I  spoke  to  him  pretty  sharply.  But 
his  answer  threw  me  all  aback,  like  a  white  squall  in  the  Levant. 
He  heard  me  through,  and,  doubling  his  fist  in  my  face,  he  exclaimed. 
'You  MADE  ME  A  DRUNKARD!'  It  cut  the  laniards  of  my  heart 
like  a  chain  shot  from  an  eighteen  pounder ;  and  I  felt  as  if  I  should 
have  gone  by  the  board."  As  he  uttered  these  words,  the  tears  ran 
down  the  channels  of  the  old  man's  cheeks4ike  rain.  Friend  Simp 
son  was  deeply  affected,  and  Parson  Sterling  sat  with  his  handker 
chief  before  his  eyes.  Indeed,  there  was  scarcely  a  dry  eye  in  the 
assembly.  After  wiping  his  eyes  on  the  sleeve  of  his  pea  jacket, 
the  old  sailor  proceeded. 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  SI 

"  f  tried,  night  and  day,  to  think  of  the  best  plan,  to  keep  my 
other  son  from  following  on  to  destruction,  in  the  wake  of  his  elder 
brother.  I  gave  him  daily  lessons  of  temperance  ;  I  held  up  before 
him  the  example  of  his  poor  brother  ;  I  cautioned  him  not  to  take 
spirit  upon  an  empty  stomach,  and  I  kept  my  eye  constantly  upon 
him.  Still  I  daily  took  my  allowance  ;  and  the  sight  of  the  dram 
bottle,  the  smell  of  the  liquor,  and  the  example  of  his  own  father, 
were  abler  lawyers  on  t'other  side.  I  saw  the  breakers  ahead ;  and 
I  prayed  God  to  preserve  not  only  my  child,  but  myself ;  for  I  was 
sometimes  alarmed  for  my  own  safety.  About  this  time  [  went  to 
meeting  one  Sunday,  and  the  minister  read  the  account  oi  the  over 
throw  of  Goliah.  As  I  returned  home  I  compared  intemperance,  in 
my  own  mind,  to  the  giant  of  Gath  ;  and  I  asked  myself  why  there 
might  not  be  found  some  remedy  for  the  evil  as  simple  as  the  means 
employed  for  his  destruction.  For  the  first  time,  the  thought  of  total 
abstinence  occurred  to  my  mind  :  this,  then,  said  I,  is  THE  SMOOTH 

STONE    FROM    THE    BROOK,  AND    THE    SHEPHERD'S  SLING  !       I  told  my 

wife  what  I  had  been  thinking  of.  She  said  she  had  no  doubt,  that 
God  had  put  the  thought  into  my  mind.  I  called  in  Tom,  my 
youngest  son,  and  told  him  I  had  resolved  never  to  taste  another 
drop,  blow  high  or  blow  low.  I  called  for  all  there  was  in  the 
house,  and  threw  it  out  of  the  window.  Tom  promised  to  take  no 
more.  I  never  have  had  reason  to  doubt,  that  he  has  kept  his  prom 
ise.  He  is  now  first  mate  of  an  Indiaman.  Now,  your  honor,  I 
have  said  all  I  had  to  say  about  my  own  experience.  Maybe  I  've 
spun  too  long  a  yarn  already.  But  I  think  it  wouldn't  puzzle  a 
Chinese  juggler  to  take  to  pieces  all  that  has  been  put  together  on 
t'other  side." 

"Friend  Barney,"  said  Ephraim  Simpson,  "I  have  attended  to 
the  stranger's  words ;  they  are  verily  the  words  of  truth  and  sober 
aess,  and  I  would  willingly  hear  more." 

"  Spin  as  long  a  yarn  as  you  please,  Mr.  Morgan,"  said  the 
chairman,  "  and  I  hope  it  will  be  spun  of  as  good  hemp  and  as  hard 
.wisted  as  the  last."  The  strong  disposition  to  cheer  and  applaud, 
which  was  testified  throughout  the  assembly,  could  scarcely  be 
restrained,  by  the  efforts  of  the  chairman.  Jim  Dixon  was  so 
delighted,  that  he  actually  held  up  his  hat  and  proposed  three 
cheers.  Captain  Barney  reminded  him,  that  he  was  in  the  house 
of  God ;  and  that  Mr.  Morgan's  practical  good  sense  needed  no  sucl: 
kind  of  support.  "  Please  to  proceed,  Mr.  Morgan,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  your  honor,"  said  the  old  salt,  "  I've  got  all  that  I  '\o 
heard  here  to-day  coiled  up  in  my  store-room,  ard  with  your  hotrod's 
leave  I  '11  just  overhaul  it.  The  very  first  man  tl  at  spoke, said  li 


82  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

lost  two  likely  boys,  by  the  use  of  ardent  spirit.  That  was  saying 
something  Lo  the  purpose.  Then  up  got  the  gentleman,  that  said  lit 
kept  the  tavern,  and  that  folks  might  keep  their  boys  and  themselves 
at  home.  Cold  comfort,  your  honor,  for  a  poor  man  that 's  lost 
two  children  !  Now,  if  a  man  holds  out  a  false  light,  or  hangs  one 
to  the  tail  of  an  old  horse,  and  such  things  have  been  done,  as  your 
honor  knows,  and  I  lose  my  ship  by  mistaking  it  for  the  true  light, 
I  should  n't  be  much  comforted,  by  being  told,  that  I  might  have 
kept  my  ship  in  port  or  myself  at  home.  Now,  if  a  dram-seller, 
who  happens  to  outlive  a  score  of  poor  fellows,  who  have  drank 
death  arid  destruction  at  his  hands,  will  still  sell  the  poison,  that  he 
«rell  knows  must  kill  a  considerable  number  of  those  that  drink  it ; 
he  is  the  man  that  holds  out  a  false  light.  The  question  he  asks  is 
a  queer  sort  of  a  question,  your  honor,  to  be  sure.  Why  has  n't  he 
as  good  a  right  to  sell  spirit  with  a  license,  as  the  farmer  to  sell  his 
corn  without  one?  I've  been  in  countries,  where  a  man  who 
bought  a  license,  or  an  indulgence,  as  they  call  it,  to  murder  his 
neighbor,  might  inquire,  in  the  same  manner,  why  he  had  not  as 
good  a  right  to  commit  a  murder  with  a  license,  as  his  neighbor 
to  sell  his  well-gotten  merchandise  without  one.'*  "  That  old  fel 
low  would  have  made  a  capital  lawyer,"  said  Teazle  to  the  chairman 
in  a  whisper.  —  "A  little  too  straightforward  for  that,  Mr.  Teazle," 
replied  Captain  Barney  with  a  smile. 

"  Now,  your  honor,"  continued  the  boatswain,  "  I  've  heard  law 
yers  say,  that  a  man  couldn't  be  forced  to  pay  his  debts,  if  no  claim 
was  made  within  six  years.  A  man  owes  the  amount  just  as  much 
after,  for  all  I  can  see,  as  he  did  before,  and  would  be  a  great  knave 
not  to  pay  it.  He  may,  therefore,  as  I  understand  it,  be  a  great 
knave,  according  to  law.  I  can't  see,  therefore,  that  this  rum- 
sellirig  business  is  an  honorable  or  a  moral  business,  because  it  is  a 
lawful  business. 

"  Please  your  honor,  the  gentleman,  whom  I  take  to  be  a  lawyer, 
because  he  said  something  about  his  clients,  seems  to  be  an  ingen 
ious  and  able  man.  Now,  your  honor,  when  I  see  an  ingenious  and 
able  man,  talk,  as  it  seems  to  me  this  gentleman  has,  I  can't  help 
th  nking  he  knows  he  has  got  hold  of  a  rotten  cause.  Just  so,  when 
an  old  seaman  can't  make  a  neat  splice,  the  fault 's  in  the  rope,  and 
noi  in  him.  He  says  the  traffic  is  a  lawful  traffic,  and  we  have  no 
right  to  interfere  with  it.  I  hope,  your  honor,  the  gentleman 
does  n't  mean  to  take  the  law  of  us,  if  we  refuse  to  drink  rum  ;  and 
I  suppose  nobody  wants  to  interfere  in  any  other  way.  Dram-sell- 
u.<?  is  not  more  lawful,  I  take  it,  than  rope-making ;  yet  we  are  not 
obiigui  to  buy  a  hem^  cable,  if  we  like  an  iron  one  better.  The  gen- 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  83 

tleman  says  we  may  drink  rum  or  not ;  and  if  we  become  drunkards, 
the  fault  and  its  consequences  are  our  own.  Now,  your  honor,  sup 
pose  I  should  contrive  some  new-fangled  sort  of  amusement,  so  very 
agreeable,  that  very  few  would  be  able  to  resist  the  temptation  to 
try  it ;  and  yet,  in  the  long  run,  it  should  be  the  cause  of  death  to 
one  out  of  every  fifty,  how  long  should  I  be  suffered  to  go  on?  We 
are  praying  not  to  be  led  into  temptation,  and  yet  we  are  constantly 
tempting  one  another  to  become  drunkards,  aid  yet  telling  them 
it 's  their  own  fault  after  all.  The  gentleman  says  temperance 
is  a  good  thing.  My  notion  is,  that  it  would  be  a  bad  thing  for  the 
lawyers,  your  honor.  He  says  the  law  forbids  selling  ardent  spirit 
to  drunkards.  It 's  a  strange  sort  of  a  law,  that  forbids  us  from 
giving  any  more  rope  to  a  man  that  has  already  hanged  himself. 
Now,  your  honor,  ought  not  that  law  to  be  altered,  so  as  to  forbia 
the  dram-sellers  from  selling  it  to  any  person  but  drunkards,  who  vi  ih 
soon  die  off,  and  leave  none  but  temperate  people  behind?  The 
gentleman  said  we  must  apply  to  the  legislature.  If  we  get  a  good 
law,  how  long  will  it  last,  your  honor?  I  don't  know  whether 
there  's  a  weathercock  atop  o'  the  state-house ;  but  I  've  heard  that 
the  wind  there  goes  all  round  the  compass,  sometimes  in  four  and 
twenty  hours.  Unless  the  law  is  put  in  force,  what  is  it  good  for? 
Why  it 's  like  the  Dutchman's  anchor,  that  lay  on  the  wharf  at 
Ostend,  when  he  was  in  a  gale,  off  Cape  Hatteras.  You  might  as 
well  have  a  law,  your  honor,  against  the  rheumatism.  If  people 
can  be  persuaded  to  leave  off  drinking,  entirely,  that  will  be  as  good 
as  a  law,  written  in  their  members,  —  and  then,  your  honor,  the 
dram-sellers  may  drink  up  the  balance  among  themselves.  Total 
abstinence,  it  seems  to  me,  is  the  only  remedy,  and  the  evils  of 
intemperance  will  fall  beihre  this  simple  remedy  alone,  as  the  giant 
of  Gath  fell  before  A  SMOOTH  STONE  FROM  THE  BROOK  AND  A  SHEP 
HERD'S  SLING." 

The  old  man  sat  down,  amidst  a  roar  of  applause,  which  contin 
ued  for  several  minutes,  in  defiance  of  Captain  Barney's  best  efforts, 
and  the  repeated  application  of  his  oak  stick  against  the  side  of  the 
pulpit. 

Silence  having  been  restored,  the  question  was  taken  on  the  mo 
tion  of  Captain  Lane,  and  carried  by  an  almost  unanimous  vote.  A 
society  was  formed  upon  the  spot :  and  one  hundred  and  thirty  tw  ( 
individuals  signed  the  pledge. 

The  old  boatswain  was  surrounded,  after  the  meeting  ha^  dis 
solved,  and  received  an  hundred  kind  looks  and  hearty  shakes  by  the 
hand.  The  humble  hospitality  of  Fishingport  was  offered  by  mauy  , 
but  his  business  called  him  immediately  away.  Jim  Dixon  and 


84  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

half  a  dozen  zealous  fishermen,  in  a  knot  by  themselves,  were 
eagerly  debating,  whether  Mr.  Morgan  might  not  be  prevailed  on  to 
relinquish  the  sea,  and  if  it  might  not  be  a  good  thing  to  dismiss 
Parson  Twist,  and  give  the  old  boatswain  a  call. 

"  Well,  father  Simpson,"  said  Captain  Lane,  after  the  meeting, 
"  what  do  ye  think  of  the  speaker?"  "  Beyond  my  expectation,  I 
confess,"  said  the  old  man.  "  If  you  could  hear  him  tell  over," 
said  the  captain,  "  the  long  list  of  likely  fellows  that  have  foundered 
all  round  him  in  this  ocean  of  rum,  for  forty  years,  it  would  make 
your  heart  ache."  "  Billy,"  rejoined  the  Quaker,  "  I  tell  thee,  he 
hath  done  more  good,  in  one  hour,  than  all  the  clergy  could  have 
done,  in  a  twelvemonth,  towards  the  removal  of  the  evils  of  intem 
perance." 

The  progress  of  the  reformation  in  Fishingport  was  rapid  beyond 
example.  In  three  months  from  that  time,  a  drunkard  attracted  as 
much  attention,  as  a  stranger  of  distinction.  "Now,"  said  old 
Peggy,  "  a  body  can  sleep  o'  nights." 

At  the  next  March  meeting,  the  old  selectmen  declined  being 
candidates  for  offices,  which  it  was  obvious  they  would  not  be 
elected  to  fill.  Three  cold-water  men  were  chosen  without  opposi 
tion,  who  refused  all  application  for  licenses  to  sell  ardent  spirit  in 
Fishingport. 

Captain  Lane  contracted  for  a  large  house,  on  a  beautiful  spot  of 
ground,  just  above  father  Simpson's,  on  the  left  hand,  just  before 
you  come  to  the  road,  that  carries  you  to  the  meeting-house.  It 
was  speedily  finished ;  for  he  said,  his  old  mother  should  have  the 
comfort  of  it,  in  her  old  age.  Friend  Ephraim  superintended  its 
construction  ;  and  there  was  not  a  drop  of  grog  in  the  joints,  from 
garret  to  cellar.  No  man  who  drank  spirit,  raised  an  axe  or  lifted 
a  hammer  in  the  work. 

Here,  for  many  years,  dwelt  Captain  William  Lane,  the  friend  of 
the  poor,  a  terror  to  evil-doers,  and  a  praise  to  such  as  did  well. 
Good,  perfectly  unmixed,  is  no  ordinary  thing.  The  peace  and 
prosperity  of  the  town,  the  cheerful,  yet  busy  expression  on  the  fea 
tures  of  its  inhabitants,  the  constant  arrival  and  departure  of  the 
fishing  craft,  the  kind  and  provident  husbands,  happy  wives,  and 
dutiful  children  of  Fishingport,  became  as  remarkable,  as  the  interr- 
perance,  indolence,  and  wretchedness  of  Groggy  Harbor,  a  short 
lime  before.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  admitted,  that  the  sex 
ton  and  the  apothecary  had  much  less  to  do.  Teazle  lost  the  greater 
part  of  his  business,  and  his  office  is  now  occupied  by  a  worthy  shoe 
maker.  Dr.  Gale  was  one  of  the  best  friends  of  the  cause. 
*'  Few,"  said  he,  "  are  more  likely  to  profit  by  the 


GROGGY  HARBOR.  85 

reform,  than  men  of  my  profession.  We  have  less  to  do  ;  but  we 
are  paid  for  it  all.  Formerly  I  was  worn  out,  night  and  day,  in  the 
service  of  a  set  of  poor  drunken  creatures,  whom  I  could  not  refuse 
to  attend;  whom  I  supplied  with  medicine,  which  they  had  no 
means  to  buy ;  and  from  whom  I  never  got  a  cent." 

As  no  licenses  were  granted,  we  need  not  say  that  the  Demijohn, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  became  a  temperance  house.  The  man  who 
took  it,  was  a  person  of  some  humor  ;  he  retained  the  old  sign,  but 
turned  it  bottom  upward,  to  signify  that  the  liquor  had  run  out. 

Simon  Spicket  soon  found,  that  he  was  doing  what  is  called  a 
small  business ;  for  Jim  Dixon,  who  thought  Captain  Lane,  next  to 
the  old  boatswain,  the  greatest  man  in  the  world,  had,  with  the 
captain's  assistance,  set  up  a  grocery  store  in  the  heart  of  the  town  ; 
and  he  had  the  custom  of  all,  who  preferred  their  sugar  without 
sand,  and  their  molasses,  before  it  was  diluted. 

At  the  end  of  two  years,  the  old  boatswain,  who  had  lost  his 
wife,  quitted  the  sea,  and  dropped  anchor  for  the  remainder  of  his 
days,  alongside  his  old  master.  The  captain  made  him  a  present 
of  an  acre  of  land,  and  he  built  himself  a  snuj?  cabin,  directly  over 
the  way,  and  in  front  of  the  captain's  dwelling-house.  When  the 
old  ship  was  broken  up,  he  put  the  figure-head,  a  Neptune  with 
his  trident,  over  the  front  door.  He  was  a  man  of  excellent  judg 
ment  and  sterling  integrity,  and  saved  the  county  a  considerable 
amount  of  time  and  money ;  for  nothing  was  more  common,  upon 
any  disagreement  in  the  harbor,  than  to  hear  a  proposal  on  one 
side,  to  leave  it  to  uncle  Morgan,  and  an  immediate  assent  on  the 
other. 

Parson  Twist  is  yet  living,  though  he  has  relinquished  his  holy 
j-a  !ling.  The  captain  thought  him  an  amiable  man  ;  but  he  used 
*o  say,  that  the  least  touch  of  the  helm  would  make  the  parson 
change  his  course  ever  so  many  points,  in  an  instant.  The  captain 
was  kind  to  him ;  and  he  now  keeps  a  little  shop,  for  the  sale  of 
oooks  and  stationery. 

The  Reverend  Mr  Sterling  has  been  settled  in  Fishingport,  for 
three  years  past ;  and  never  had  a  clergyman  a  more  ready  assistant, 
for  the  promotion  of  every  good  work,  than  has  this  excellent  disci 
ple  of  his  Lord  and  Master,  in  good  Captain  Lane.  Old  Peggy  in 
her  new  house,  with  every  comfort  about  her,  is  one  of  the  happiest 
creatures  upon  earth  ;  and  father  Ephraim  and  his  wife  are  not  less 
happy  in  their  old  one. 

Mark  Mooney  died,  in  great  anguish  of  body  and  mind.  His  cor. 
fessions  on  his  death  bed .  to  the  Reverend  Mr.  Sterling,  were  of  so 
painful  a  ch/AractPr  and  revealed,  such  atrocious  conduct,  especially 

VOL    i  i 


86  GROGGY  HARBOR. 

in  relation  to  the  old  shipwreck  on  the  Drunkard's  Ruin,  that  the 
minister  and  father  Ephraim  decided  not  to  communicate  them  to 
Captain  Lane  :  —  the  wretch  had  gone  beyond  the  jurisdiction  of  all 
earthly  tribunals. 

The  reader  shall  have  no  reason  to  complain  that  we  leave  him  !TI 
ignorance  of  the  fate  of  Jenny  Jones.  The  captain  became  deeply 
interested  in  this  miserable  creature  ;  and,  at  his  own  cost,  conveyed 
her  to  the  Asylum  for  the  Insane.  In  less  than  twelve  months,  she 
recovered  her  reason,  to  the  astonishment  of  everybody,  excepting 
the  skilful  superintendent ;  who  remarked,  that  she  might,  in  all 
probability,  have  been  cured,  at  any  time  before,  had  she  been 
removed  from  her  old  haunts,  and  judiciously  attended.  She  has 
been  entirely  well,  for  several  years ;  and,  having  received  a  good 
plain  education,  in  her  youth,  she  has,  for  some  time,  kept  the  vil 
lage  school,  in  the  very  house  where  it  was  formerly  kept,  by  old 
Peggy  Lane. 

A  neighboring  clergyman,  on  a  visit  to  the  Reverend  Pastor,  after 
a  residence  of  several  days,  witnessing  the  universal  indications  of 
industry,  health,  and  good  manners,  in  the  inhabitants,  and  the  gen 
eral  appearance  of  neatness  and  comfort  about  their  dwellings,  lifted 
up  his  hands  and  exclaimed,  "Can  this  be  Groggy  Harbor?" 
"No,  my  friend,"  said  the  Reverend  Mr.  Sterling,  "this  is  no 
longer  Groggy  Harbor.  Its  nature  has  been  changed,  and  the  namn 
may  well  be  forgotten.  This  change,  which  fills  you  with  astonish 
ment,  and  which  has  given  us  peaceful  firesides,  for  temples  of  dis 
cord,  beauty  for  ashes,  and  the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning,  has  been 
produced  by  the  simple  remedy  of  TOTAL  ABSTINENCE  FROM  ARDINT 
SPIRIT,  which  has  proved  as  effectual,  in  our  warfare  with  nrUui- 
perance,  that  giant  of  human  evils,  as  A  SMOOTH  STONE  FROM  TL  • 

BROOK  AN"  A  SHEPHERD'S  SLING." 


RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 


Neither  riches,  nor  honors,  nor  learning,  nor  wiidom,  nor  age,  nor  strength  nor  ttctnre,  MI 
power,  can  provide  a  security  for  man,  against  the  evils  of  intemperance.  Drunkenness  is  at  he  me. 
in  the  cottaje  and  the  castle  ;  upon  the  sailor's  hammock,  and  the  bed  of  down  ;  among  the  learned 
and  ths  ignorant ;  the  poor  and  the  rich  ;  the  vulgar  and  the  refined. 

It  would  be  matter  for  curious  speculation,  to  inquire  how  tar  the  intemperate  habits  of  many 
educated  men  have  been  connected,  in  their  very  formation,  with  their  academical  and  collegiate 
studies.  Expursated  editions  of  the  Greek  and  Roman  classics  have  been  introduced  into  our 
academies  and  colleges.  But,  as  far  as  my  knowledge  extends,  the  process  of  expurgation  has  teen 
confined  to  such  portions  of  the  classics,  as  were  of  a  libidinous  or  amatory  character.  Many  glow- 
ing  passages,  which  are  of  constant  occurrence  on  the  pages  of  those  ancient  writers,  have  been 
rejected,  w\ih  eminent  propriety,  in  such  editions  as  are  designed  for  colleges  and  schools.  The 
effect  of  the  deliberate  translation  of  such  passages,  into  plain  English,  in  a  public  recitation  room, 
must  prove  exceedingly  embarrassing  and  indecorous.  This  consideration,  however,  is  of  minor 
importance.  What  is  the  least  of  all  those  evils,  which  may  be  expected  from  the  laborious  acqui 
sition  of  that  precious  knowledge,  which  these  objectionable  portions  contain  (  The  precise  import 
of  every  word  is  to  be  ascertained,  with  toil,  arid  fixed  in  the  memory  ;  terras  and  phrases  are  to  be 
understood  ;  and  every  pan  of  the  sentence,  faithfully  adjusted  to  its  fellows;  until  the  sentiment, 
contained  in  the  nut-shell  of  a  sententious  and  beautiful  verse,  never,  perhaps,  to  he  forgotten,  is 
effectually  wrought  into  the  system,  like  leaven  into  the  lump.  The  mischievous  influence  of  such 
reading,  while  the  youthful  heart,  like  molten  wax,  is  peculiarly  susceptible  of  impression,  has  been 
fully  estimated,  by  those,  who  have  the  superintendence  of  our  literary  institutions  ;  and  the  salu 
tary  effect  of  the  preventive  measure,  to  which  we  have  alluded,  has  been  satisfactorily  tested. 

Let  us  gravely  inquire,  if  expurgation,  in  relation  to  those  ancient  authors,  which  are  employed 
in  schools  arid  colleges,  has  had  us  perfect  work  '.'  Is  there  no  other  topic,  which  may  be  fairly  con 
sidered  a  legitimate  subject  matter  for  the  excisive  process?  Is  there  nothing  more  lor  the  pruning- 
hook  of  the  moral  mstruc'.or? — We  think  there  is.  The  praises  of  wine  are  everlastingly  poured 
forth  by  Horace,  Anacreon,  et  id  genus  omne.  Men  and  boys  are  imitative  creatures;  and,  aftet 

FalernTan,  Chian,  Formian  and  other  wines,  with  which  such  writers  have  literally  filled  their  works, 
not  a  few  rise  from  the  perusal,  more  than  half  inclined  to  make  a  trial  of  their  virtues.  In  the 
absence  of  all  those  unen forced  wines  of  other  days,  our  under  graduates  very  naturally  resort  to  such 
execrable  compositions,  as  are  vended,  under  the  name  of  wine,  almost  in  the  very  purlieus  of  our 
universities:  and  we  greatly  err,  if  the  intemperance  of  the  full-grown  man,  in  after  days,  may  not 
frequently  be  traced  to  a  classical  original. 

We  believe  the  influence  of  such  reading  to  be  mischievous,  in  its  operation  upon  the  minds  of 
young  men  and  boys.  If  it  be  needful,  that  they  should  acquire  any  knowledge  of  wine,  let  ihem 
seek  it  among  the  words  of  truth  and  soberness,  and  not  upon  the  pages  of  those  fanciful  writers, 
who  hold,  that  drunkenness,  in  a  certain  modification,  is  the  handmaid  of  poesy.  Let  them  acquire 
correct  impressions,  at  first,  by  a  careful  perusal  of  the  elder  Pliny's  treatise  upon  wine,  and  especially 
of  that  portion  of  it,  in  which  he  writes,  "  de  ebrietate  vitanda." 


TWENTY  years  had  rolled  away,  one  after  another,  like  billows 
upon  the  ocean,  since,  upon  the  day  after  commencement,  in  the 
year  18 — ,  Mr.  Atherton  had  taken  his  chum,  Tom  Burley,  by  the 
hand,  for  the  last  time.  They  had  separated  with  expressions  ot 
great  kindness  for  each  other,  and  an  agreement  to  correspond : 
which,  of  late,  had  not  been  very  carefully  regarded  by  either. 
Burley  had  returned  to  his  native  village,  and  settled  down  upon  an 
extensive  patrimonial  estate,  as  a  gentleman  of  leisure.  Atherton 
had  become  a  planter  in  the  State  of  Mississippi.  Their  Greek  and 
Latin  had  long  been  forgotten,  and  their  Hebrew  had  died  down  to 
the  roots. 

Mr.  Atherton,  whose  health  had  become  impaired,  was  advised, 
ny  hia  physician,  to  take  a  journey  into  New  England,  and  make  a 


88  RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 

trial  of  his  native  air ;  and  no  inconsiderable  part  of  his  prospective 
enjoyment  was  associated  with  the  idea  of  revisiting  the  scenes  of 
his  youth,  and  meeting  his  old  classmate,  Burley,  again.  Mr 
Atherton,  it  is  true,  had  lost  all  his  skill  in  the  dead  languages ;  but 
there  existed,  in  his  mind,  a  residuum,  in  the  form  of  a  purified  taste, 
acquired  undoubtedly  by  the  study  of  those  very  languages.  He 
was  a  slave-holder;  and  certainly  an  exception  from  the  general 
rule,  that  the  exercise  of  a  dominion,  nearly  equal  to  that  of  a  Satrap, 
over  one's  fellow-creatures,  will  ultimately  harden  the  heart  of  man 
I  have  passed  a  month  in  his  hospitable  mansion,  and  can  truly  say, 
without  any  defalcation  from  the  sum  total  of  my  utter  abhorrence 
of  slavery,  that  Archibald  Atherton  was  a  kind-hearted  master. 

Mr.  Atherton  travelled  on  horseback ;  and,  followed  by  a  gray- 
headed  negro,  had  arrived  within  a  short  distance  of  the  village,  in 
which  his  friend  Burley  resided.  He  had  stopped  at  a  brook,  to 
water  his  horse,  and  old  Sambo  had  ridden  close  to  his  side,  for  the 
purpose  of  drawing  his  cloak  more  closely  about  his  shoulders 
Sarnbo  was  a  faithful  creature,  and  a  man  of  all  works.  He  was 
a  capital  cook,  valet,  barber,  and  coachman,  a  good  farrier  and 
groom ;  and,  though  he  had  never  received  a  diploma,  he  possessed 
no  contemptible  share  of  skill  and  knowledge  in  the  healing  art. 
Indeed  he  was  universally  known,  by  the  title  of  the  Doctor,  among 
the  blacks  of  the  neighboring  plantations.  —  "  Pretty  sharp,  massa," 
said  the  careful  creature,  as  he  brought  the  collar  of  the  cloak  more 
closely  round  his  master's  throat.  —  "Rather  cold,  Sambo,"  said 
Mr.  Atherton  with  a  kind-hearted  expression  ;  "  we  have  now  gotten 
into  New  England  ;  and  how  beautiful  is  all  the  surrounding  scene 
ry!" —  It  was  beautiful  indeed.  It  was  a  clear  frosty  morning  in 
the  middle  of  October  ;  a  thin  formation  of  ice  might  be  seen  at  the 
edges  of  the  brook  ;  pumpkins  and  squashes  were  gathered  in  heaps 
round  the  farmers'  doors  ;  the  laborers  were  employed  in  cutting  the 
corn  from  the  stalk,  or  throwing  the  harvest  into  carts,  preparatory 
to  the  husking  frolic ;  and  every  farm-house  was  adorned  with  its 
festoons  of  dried  apples.  All  around  bore  the  impress  of  sub 
stantial  comfort.  But  the  forest,  the  October  forest  of  New  England , 
was  never  more  beautiful  than  at  that  very  time.  The  fall  of  the 
.eaf  had  not  yet  commenced,  save  with  the  birch,  and  the  few  ill- 
fated  foresters,  whose  shallowness  of  earth  gave  them  a  stinted 
nourishment,  insufficient  for  their  annual  wants.  The  whole  fcTest 
nad  changed  its  complexion  in  a  single  night.  Frost  had  come 
down  rpon  the  earth,  with  all  its  powers  of  alchymy.  The  white 
oak  and  the  ash  manifested  but  .little  disposition  to  surrender  their 
rerdant  honors,  and  had  scarcely  changed  their  color,  for  a  d«»epe> 


RIGHT  OPPOSITE.  89 

green.  But  the  shapely  walnut  had  varied  its  light  green  for  a 
brilliant  yellow  ;  and  mingled  its  leaves  with  the  deep  brown,  at  the 
base,  and  glossy  moroon,  at  the  summit,  of  the  red  shrub  oak.  The 
maple  and  the  quivering  aspen  had  assumed  an  orange  hue,  and  the 
larger  leaves  upon  the  terminal  shoots  of  the  black  oak  were  changed 
to  purple.  "How  lovely,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  as  he  gazed  upon 
the  scene  around  him,  "how  lovely  is  this  variety  of  colors!  how 
beautiful  these  hills  and  intervals !" 

Sambo  had  as  strong  an  affection  for  his  native  state  as  Mr. 
Atherton ;  and,  withal,  his  mind  was  not  entirely  free  from  appre 
hension,  that  his  master  might  be  persuaded  to  remain  in  New 
England.  He  therefore  ventured  to  give  his  opinion.  —  "  Massa," 
said  he,  pointing  to  a  rocky  precipice,  where  not  even  a  mullein 
stalk  could  find  foothold  and  support,  "  dat  no  very  good  land  for 
cotton!" — Mr.  Atherton  laughed,  and  Sambo  followed  up  his 
advantage.  —  "Does  massa  say  de  tree  here  so  fine  as  pride  o' 
Chiny?" — "  Pride  of  nonsense,"  said  Mr.  Atherton ;  "  this  is  the 
fall  of  the  year,  Sambo."  —  "  Oh,  massa  Atherton,"  cried  Sambo, 
*  what  you  say  to  de  red  bud,  and  de  live  oak,  and  de  great  mag- 
no^y,  leaf  green  all  de  year,  foot  long."  —  "Ay,  Sambo,"  said 
Mr.  Atherton,  "  and  Spanish  moss  flapping  in  your  eyes,  eight  feet 
long  !"  —  "  Spanish  moss  make  good  bed,  massa,"  rejoined  Sambo. 
—  Mr.  Atherton  made  no  reply ;  and  Sambo,  who  understood  the 
signal,  slackened  his  pace,  and  fell  into  the  rear. 

As  they  moved  along,  upon  a  moderate  pace,  the  indications 
became  more  convincing,  at  every  step,  that  they  were  upon  the  con 
fines  of  a  New  England  village .  The  long  ranges  of  stone  walls  were 
a  source  of  great  wonder  to  Sambo,  who  had  passed  his  whole  life, 
in  an  alluvial  country,  where  there  cannot  be  found  a  stone,  as  large 
as  a  robin  shot.  The  farm-houses,  with  their  ordinary  complement 
of  bee-hives,  cider-presses,  and  elevated  corn-barns,  were  becom 
ing  less  few  .and  far  between ;  and  turkeys  began  to  present  them 
selves,  in  flocks,  which  Sambo  mistook  for  collections  of  buzzards. 
They  were  very  numerous,  for  the  day,  which  is  always  appointed 
by  the  governor  of  every  New  England  State,  by  and  with  the 
advice  of  council,  for  a  general  roasting  of  these  unhappy  birds,  had 
not  yet  arrived.  Even  Mr.  Atherton  was  perfectly  satisfied,  that 
the  curs,  of  which  one  or  more  rushed,  yelping,  from  every  gate, 
as  the  travellers  rode  by,  pursuing  them,  till  the  hue  and  cry  was 
taken  up  by  the  dogs  of  the  next  farm-house,  and  then  returning  to 
be  ready  for  the  next  comer,  were  the  descendants,  in  the  right  line, 
of  those  very  dogs,  that  annoyed  the  traveller,  in  the  same  manner, 
some  twenty  years  ago.  The  shout  of  an  hundred  little  voices,  and 

VOL.  i.  8* 


90  RIGHT    OPPOSITE. 

the  irruption  of  as  many  little  boys  and  girls  from  a  small  square 
building,  at  the  road-side,  denoted  the  general  jail  delivery  of  as 
many  little  prisoners,  who  were  emancipated  for  the  morning,  from 
the  bondage  of  science.  Their  gambols  were  interrupted,  for  a  short 
time,  as  they  gathered  into  groups  and  gazed  after  the  travellers. 
The  geese  were  more  troublesome  than  usual,  expressing,  in  their 
peculiar  way,  their  indignation  or  scorn,  or  defiance,  whichever  it 
might  be,  for  the  motives  of  a  goose  are  not  easily  understood. 
They  cackled,  and  flapped  their  wings,  and  hissed  at  the  travellers, 
particularly  at  Sambo,  with  extraordinary  vehemence. 

Ere  long  a  portion  of  the  village  spire  began  to  appear  ?jnoii£ 
the  trees,  and  the  gilded  telltale  on  its  top,  in  which  the  slippery 
politician,  and  the  fair  weather  friend,  and  the  doubting  disciple, 
who  is  blown  about  by  every  wind  of  doctrine,  may  behold  a  happy 
emblem  of  life  and  practice.  The  village  was  now  fairly  before 
them,  beautifully  planted  in  a  broad  valley  ;  and  the  smokes  of  its 
peaceful  fires  were  seen,  curling  slowly  upward,  against  the  precip 
itous  sides  of  its  many-colored  hills  beyond. 

A  thousand  recollections  of  early  friendship  and  college  days 
came  crowding  upon  the  mind  of  Mr.  Athertoh,  as  he  drew  near  to 
the  habitation  of  his  friend.  —  "  A  large  square  brick  house,"  said, 
he  to  himself,  "  not  far  from  the  centre  of  the  town  ;  such  was  the 
description,  which  Burley  gave  me  of  liis  residence,  in  his  last  letter. 
But  that  was  written  about  three  years  ago.  He  may  have  moved, 

or" He  did  not  finish  the  sentence  ;  it  was  evident,  that  he 

was  contemplating  the  changes  and  chances,  which  might  have 
befallen  his  friend.  —  "  Sambo,"  continued  Mr.  Atherton,  pointing 
to  a  house,  which  answered  the  description,  "  that,  I  guess,  must 
be  the  dwelling  of  my  old  friend,  Mr.  Burley."  —  "I  guess  so, 
massa,"  said  Sambo.  —  "  You  guess  so,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  with 
a  smile  ;  "  what  makes  you  guess  so?"  —  "  Oh,  massa,"  rejoined 
the  good-natured  follower,  "  like  massa,  like  man ;  massa  guess  so, 
Sambo  guess  so;  and  de  poor  old  horse  very  tired." — "Well," 
said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  I  '11  make  the  matter  sure;"  and  riding  up  U 
a  small  shop,  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  over  whose  door  was  the 
sign  of  SIMEON  SODER,  TINMAN  ;  "  Pray,  sir,"  said  he  to  a  little 
old  man  with  spectacles,  who  was  busily  tinkering  some  article  in 
his  line,  "  will  you  inform  me  where  I  may  find  the  house  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Burley?"  This  question  he  repeated  three  times,  before 
he  obtained  a  reply.  At  length  the  tinman  turned  to  him,  with  an 
air  and  expression,  which  seemed  to  say,  that  time  was  money,  and 
said,  in  a  rapid  manner,  "  Sodering,  sir,  —  couldn't  leave  the  joo, 
— what's  your  will,  sir?" — Mr,  Atherton  put  the  inquiry  again. 


RIGHT   OPPOSITE.  91 

—  "Right  opposite,"  was  the  reply,  and  the  old  tinman  was  at  it 
again,  before  the  last  word  was  out  of  his  mouth. 

Mr.  Atherton  dismounted,  and,  giving  his  horse  to  old  Sambo, 
knocked  at  the  doer.  It  was  opened,  by  Burley  himself.  So  uni 
versal  was  the  change,  which  twenty  years  had  wrought  hi  his 
appearance,  that  Mr.  Atherton  did  not  recognize  the  friend  of  his 
youth,  intil  he  himself  exclaimed,  seizing  his  visitor  by  the  hand, 
"GoiJ  bless  you,  Atherton,  how  do  you  do?  Come  in,  my  dear 
fellow,  you  have  come  in  the  nick  of  time ;  Mrs.  Burley  is  just  now 
making  a  bowl  of  punch."  So  saying,  he  dragged  his  old  class 
mate  into  the  parlor,  and  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Burley  ;  —  "  My 
old  friend,  Atherton,  my  dear,  of  whom  you  have  heard  me  speak 
so  often."  —  Mrs.  Burley  set  down  a  case  bottle  of  old  Jamaica,  a 
portion  of  which  she  had  just  poured  into  the  punch-bowl,  and,  after 
Deceiving  him  very  civilly,  returned  to  her  labors  at  the  sideboard. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Burley,  "  you  cannot  tell  how  glad 
I  am  to  see  you ;  —  four  limes  you  know,  my  dear."  —  "Oh  yes,  I 
know,"  said  Mrs.  Burley,  in  a  voice  of  great  self-complacency. — 
''Well  now,  Atherton,"  continued  he,  "  tell  us  about  your  wife 
and  children,  how  many  have  you?  —  half  a  dozen  table-spoonfuls 
of  arrack,  my  love,  to  give  it  a  flavor,  you  know."  —  "  Lord,  Mr. 
Burley,"  said  his  partner,  with  no  little  petulance,  "do  you  think  I 
want  to  be  directed,  after  making  your  punch,  almost  every  day  for 
ten  years,  when  I  have  not  been  confined  to  my  room  with  St. 
Anthony's  fire?"  —  "Make  it  your  own  way,  my  love,"  said  the 
prudent  husband.  "  I  assure  you,  Atherton,  nobody  can  make  it 
better.  Mrs.  Burley's  forte,  however,  is  mulled  wine." 

This  admirable  housewife's  composure  appeared  to  be  entirely 
restored,  by  the  well-timed  compliment.  The  punch  was  soon 
compounded,  and  a  brimming  tumbler  presented  to  Mr.  Atherton. 
—  "  You  must  excuse  me,"  said  he,  "  but  my  physician  has  forbid 
den  the  use  of  all  stimulating  drinks."  —  "  Pray  take  a  little,  sir." 
said  Mrs.  Burley,  evidently  mortified  at  his  refusal.  —  "  My  dear  fel 
low,"  said  her  husband,  "  it 's  my  settled  opinion,  that  your  doctor, 
whoever  he  is,  will  be  the  death  of  you  Not  take  punch !  What 
d  >  you  say  to  a  little  brandy  and  water  ?"  —  "  Nothing  of  the  kind, 
J  thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Atherton.  —  "You  are  very  pale,  sir,"  sai-J 
Mrs.  Burley,  as  she  took  her  glass ;  "  I  really  think  it  would  heighten 
your  complexion."  She  certainly  exhibited  a  striking  illustration 
of  the  truth  of  her  opinion.  She  was  short  and  corpulent,  and  her 
countenance  was  as  round  as  the  full  moon  in  the  primer.  —  Mi 
Atherton  adhered  to  his  resolution  ;  and  the  bowl  of  punch  was  con- 
u  by  Mr  Burley  and  his  lady,  with  the  exception  of  two  small 


92  RIGHT   OPPOSITE. 

glasses,  which  were  put  by,  for  the  "  dear  creatures,"  as  Mrs.  Bur- 
ley  called  them,  on  their  return  from  school. 

Mr.  Burley  again  interrogated  his  friend,  about  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  ;  and  learned,  that  he  had  left  four  fine  boys  and  their  mother, 
in  good  health  on  his  plantation.  But  Mr.  Atherton's  manners  had 
become  exceedingly  solemnized,  by  the  scene  around  him ;  and  the 
natural  melancholy  of  his  character  had  assumed  an  air  of  sadness, 
while  contemplating  the  striking  alteration  in  the  appeal  ance  of  his 
friend.  His  fine  black  hair  had  become  prematurely  gray,  at  forty- 
two.  At  college,  he  had  been  remarkable  for  his  erect  figure,  clear 
complexion,  and  bright  eye.  He  had  become  extremely  corpulent, 
with  an  infirm  gait,  and  the  stoop  of  old  age.  His  eye  had  lost  its 
lustre,  and  acquired  that  stupid,  and  bloodshot  appearance,  which  is 
so  characteristic  of  an  intemperate  man.  It  told  too  plainly  the  story 
of  his  evil  habits ;  and  his  bloated  and  eruptive  countenance  con 
firmed  the  disgraceful  tale. 

A.  loud  shout  at  the  gate  announced  the  return  of  the  two  boys 
from  school.  "  Jim  and  Billy  have  got  home,"  said  Mrs.  Burley , 
and,  going  to  the  door,  "Billy,  dear,  come  in,"  said  she.  —  "I 
won't,"  said  Billy.  —  "Jim,"  said  this  judicious  parent,  "catch 
Billy,  and  fetch  him  in."  —  "  I  won't,"  said  Jim.  —  "  Dear  me," 
said  Mrs.  Burley,  as  she  returned  into  the  house,  "  the  spirits  of 
these  dear  children  fairly  run  away  with  them.  Here,  dears,"  she 
continued,  holding  up  the  two  glasses  of  punch.  These  urchins, 
one  about  nine,  and  the  other,  twelve  years  of  age,  came  rushing 
up  to  the  door  ;  and  the  mother  attempted  to  catch  them  by  their 
manes,  like  a  couple  of  colts.  Jim  escaped,  breaking  the  tumbler 
on  the  door-step,  and  upsetting  the  punch  on  his  mother's  gown. 
Billy  was  dragged  into  the  room,  floundering  and  stamping, -- 
"  Here  is  Mr.  Atherton,  my  love,  your  father's  old  friend,  shake 
hands  with  the  gentleman,  Billy."  — "  I  don't  care,  —  I  won't, — 
let  me  go." — "  Oh  Billy,  dear,"  said  the  mother,  who  was  fairly 
out  of  breath,  and  let  him  escape,  "  you  don't  behave  your  best  by 
any  means." — "I  never  interfere,"  said  Mr.  Burley,  who  had 
just  taken  up  the  ladle,  habitually  as  it  were,  and  put  it  down 
again,  when  he  discovered,  that  the  bowl  was  empty  ;  "  I  never 
interfere :  for  managing  boys  and  making  a  bowl  of  punch,  Mrs. 
Burley  has  not  her  equal,  in  the  county." 

The  dinner  hour,  at  length,  arrived.  "  You  '11  take  a  little  brandy 
before  dinner,"  said  Mr.  Burley  to  his  friend.  —  "No,  I  thank 
you,"  said  Mr.  Atherton.  "Well,"  said  Mr.  Burley,  "I  find  I 
cannot  do  without  it.  A  watery  stomach,  I  think,  cannot  be  cor 
rected  so  readily,  in  any  other  iv^y.  Wine  does  not  agree  with  me, 


RIGHT   OPPOSITE.  93 

at  all  ,  and,  though  I  can  give  you  some  tolerable  brandy,  or  Hol 
lands,  or  Jamaica,  I  am  afraid  we  have  scarcely  a  glsss  of  wine, 
that 's  worth  your  drinking."  —  "I  never  take  it,"  said  Mr.  Ath- 
erton. — "No  wine!"  said  Mrs.  Burley  ;  "you  amaze  me."  — 
"  Ha,  ha,  ha,  you  're  a  cold-water  man,"  cried  her  husband,  as  he 
jut  down  his  glass.  "  I  can  't  go  it.  I  must  have  brandy.  But 
here  's  a  little  old  fellow,  right  opposite,  Soder,  the  tinman,  who 
drinks  nothing  but  water.  He  '11  be  delighted  to  drink  with  you  all 
day.  He  's  an  active  member  of  the  temperance  society.  That  lit 
tle  old  skeleton  and  his  son,  who  keeps  another  tin  shop,  half  a  mile 
down  the  street,  Simeon  Soder,  junior,  with  a  set  of  fanatical  hypo 
crites  and  orthodox  rascals,  if  they  could  have  their  way,  would 
soder  up  the  throats  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  that  drank  a 
drop  of  spirit.  Our  well  has  failed,  this  very  last  week;  and  I  've 
no  doubt  these  rascals  are  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Here  's  a  long  lif*- 
to  the  best  of  them,"  said  he,  pouring  down  another  glass  c' 
brandy.  "But  do  tell  me,  Atherton,"  he  continued,  "if  you  ar» 
a  cold-water  man?"  —  "Yes,  I  am,"  replied  Mr.  Atherton. - 
"A  member  of  the  temperance  society1?"  inquired  the  other. - 
"  No,  I  am  not,"  said  Mr.  Atherton. —  "  I  thought  you  were  too  sen 
sible  a  man,"  cried  Mr.  Burley,  slapping  his  hand  upon  his  visitor', 
shoulder,  "  to  join  such  a  shabby  society."  —  "Why,  as  to  that,' 
observed  Mr.  Atherton,  "  I  will  be  very  candid  with  you,  friend  Bur- 
jey ;  the  only  reason,  why  I  am  not  a  member  of  the  temperance  soci 
ety,  is  that  no  such  society  exists  in  my  neighborhood.  I  abstain, 
for  the  sake  of  my  health.  For  the  sake  of  the  example  to  others,  I 
should  think  it  my  duty  to  sign  the  pledge  ;  and,  when  I  return  home, 
[  think  I  shall  endeavor  to  get  such  a  society  organized."  —  "  Ather 
ton,"  said  Mr.  Burley,  scarcely  able  to  disguise  his  displeasure,  "  I  '11 
bet  you  a  suit  of  clothes,  that  this  scurvy  company,  the  self-styled 
friends  of  temperance,  will  come  to  nothing  in  less  than  five  years. 
Old  Colonel  Cozy,  who  had  his  canteen  shot  away  in  the  battle  of 
Brandywine,  and  behaved  nobly,  and  who  now  keeps  the  hotel  in  this 
town,  says  he  has  made  a  calculation,  and  that  the  whole  temperance 
party  in  the  United  States  cannot  exceed  six  thousand,  of  whom  the 
greater  part  are  hypocrites,  ministers,  and  old  womefl  "  — "  Friend 
Burley,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  with  a  smile,  "  as  to  the  clothes,  I 
have  no  occasion  for  a  suit,  and  I  never  bet.  But  permit  me  TO 
inquire,  if  you  were  ever  present  at  a  temperance  meeting?"  —  "  I," 
said  Burley,  "  not  I  indeed  ;  I  would  as  soon  be  caught  robbing  a  hen 
roost  "  —  "  Have  you  ever  read  any  of  their  reports,  circulars,  or 
journals?"  —  "Never,  only  on  one  occasion,"  he  replied  ;  "one 
morning,  just  as  Mrs.  Burley  had  finished  making  her  punch,  a 


94  RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 

scoundrel  threw  one  of  their  dirty  newspapers  into  the  yard ;  and  my 
little  boy,  Jim,  brought  it  into  the  parlor.  The  very  first  article 
was  headed  *  PUNCH  IN  THE  MORNING.'  I  ran  after  the  fellow  with 
my  horsewhip.  He  asserted  in  the  most  solemn  manner,  that  the 
paper  was  the  first  number  of  a  journal,  and  that  he  had  orders  to 
leave  one  at  every  door.  But  who,  that  considers  all  the  circum 
stances,  will  doubt,  that  some  villain,  who  knew  our  hour  for  punch, 
had  sent  this  hireling  to  insult  me?  Mrs.  Burley  said,  that  she 
only  wished  she  had  his  tongue  within  reach  of  her  scissors.  I  told 
him,  that,  if  he  should  ever  throw  another  of  his  impudent  papers 
before  my  door,  I  would  break  every  bone  hi  his  skin."  As  he 
uttered  the  last  words,  Mr.  Burley  struck  his  fist  upon  the  table 
with  such  force,  that  he  woke  up  his  good  lady,  who  had  fallen  fast 
a&leep  in  her  chair. 

"  Now,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  your  error,  in  relation 
to  the  number  of  the  friends  of  temperance,  in  our  country,  is  very 
great ;  instead  of  six  thousand,  two  millions  abstain  from  the  use  and 
the  traffic :  and  the  wisdom,  learning,  and  worth  of  our  country  are 
rapidly  gathering  to  the  side  of  the  temperance  reform."  —  "  Well, 
well,"  cried  Mr.  Burley,  with  evident  impatience,  "I  believe  I 
must  go  on  the  old  way.  Let  us  talk  of  some  other  subject. 
Where  is  our  old  class-mate  Lane  ?"  —  "  In  the  drunkard's  grave," 
said  Mr.  Atherton.  —  "  Is  it  possible  !"  said  Mr.  Burley,  as  he  sat 
his  glass  upon  the  table,  and  folded  his  arms  upon  his  breast.  — 
"  Even  so,"  replied  his  friend  ;  "  he  quitted  the  law,  or  rather  the 
law  quitted  him,  in  1812,  and  he  obtained  a  commission  in  the  army, 
soon  became  intemperate,  and  died  a  sot."  —  "  He  was  remarkably 
abstemious,  at  college,"  said  Mr.  Burley  ;  "  and  I  have  heard  him 
discourse  of  the  dangers  of  intemperance,  an  hundred  times  ;  while 
Barry,  his  chum,  would  laugh  and  take  his  glass,  and  say,  that  he 
had  no  fear  of  himself,  while  he  retained  his  reason."  —  "Of 
course,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  you  know  what  became  of  Barry?" 
—  "I  heard,"  said  the  other,  "  that  he  went  to  Europe,  about  fifteen 
years  ago."  —  "  He  died,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  a  most  miserable 
drunkard,  in  a  French  prison.  I  have  been  told,  by  an  American 
gentleman,  who  knew  something  of  his. family,  and  kindly  visited 
him  in  jail,  that  he  had  never  beheld  a  more  loathsome  and  disgust- 
ing  victim  of  intemperance.  You  see,  friend  Burley,  how  it  is,  the 
most  confident,  the  strongest  swimmers  are  as  frequently  swallowed 
up,  by  these  waters  of  strife,  as  the  most  timid,  if  they  venture  at 
all."— Mr.  Burley  had  listened  with  evident  emotion.  A  short 
pause  ensued.  He  lifted  his  eyes  upon  the  features  of  his  benevo- 
'ent  friend.  They  rested  there  but  an  instant.  The  kind  but 
melancholy  expressioi  of  an  honest  friend  was  perfectly  irresistible, 


RIGHT  OPPOSITE.  95 

That  single  glance  hart  established  a  mutual  consciousness  of 
each  other's  thoughts.  —  "Nineteen  of  our  old  classmates,"  said 
Mr.  Atherton,  "  have  already  died,  or  yet  live,  intemperate  men. 
You  remember  Archer,  who  distinguished  himself  for  his  skill  in 
mathematics?"  —  "I  do,"  said  Mr.  Burley,  without  raising  his 
eyes  from  the  floor. — "  Archer,"  continued  Mr.  Atherton,  "  mar 
ried  my  only  sister.  His  habits  were  then  perfectly  correct,  but  he 
became  a  convivial  and  popular  man  ;  soon  fell  into  habits  of  intem 
perance  ;  broke  my  poor  sister's  heart ;  and  shortened  her  days. 
He  is  now  a  subaltern  clerk  or  runner,  in  the  office  of  our  under 
sheriff;  and  my  sister's  three  little  orphans,  for  they  are,  in  reality, 
fatherless  and  motherless,  mingle  with  my  own  little  troop,  and  we 
try  to  love  them  all  alike,  and  succeed  pretty  well  too."  —  Mrs. 
Burley  had  left  the  room,  and  the  two  friends  were  now  by  them 
selves  — "This  is  a  detestable  vice,  Burley,"  said  Mr.  Atherton 

—  Burley  said  nothing,  but  bit  his  lip,  and  the  tear  stood  in  his  eye 
He  was  a  man  of  a  kind  heart,  and  good  natural  understanding.  — • 
'  Burley,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  "forgive 
the  freedom  of  an  old  friend  ;  —  I  conjure  you  to  abandon  the  use  of 
ardent  spirit."  —  "  My  dear  friend,"  he  replied,  wiping  the  tears, 
from  his  eyes,  "  I  trust  I  am  in  no  danger."^-  "  Those,"  said  Mr. 
Atherton,  "  who  are  upon  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  do  not  always 
see  the  danger  so  clearly,  as  those  who  are  further  removed." 

—  Mr.  Burley  admitted,  that  he  had  sometimes  tried  to  diminish 
the  quantity,  but  always  thought  he  was  the  worse  for  it.     Total 
abandonment  appeared  to  him  to  be  absolutely  impossible.  —  They 
were  now  summoned  to  the  tea-table  ;  and  Mr.  Atherton  sat  down, 
in  a  scene  of  confusion,  in  which  the  reading  of  the  riot  act  would 
not  have  been  amiss.     The  violence  of  disorderly  boys,  upsetting 
their  tea-cups,  and  fighting  for  gingerbread,  constantly  and  unavail- 
ingly  chidden  by  the  shrill  voice  of  their  mother,  for  whose  authority 
they  appeared  to  care  nothing  ;  and  restrained,  in  no  respect,  by 
their  father,  who  left  their  management  entirely  to  his  better  half ; 
all  this,  and  the  fatigue  of  his  journey,  caused  Mr.  Atherton,  soon 
after  he  had  risen  from  table,  to  seek  a  good  night's  repose  ;  and  he 
was  shown  to  his  chamber,  by  Mr.  Burley. 

The  first  object,  that  struck  Mr.  Atherton,  as  they  entered  it 
logether,  was  an  exceHent  portrait  of  Burley,  taken  just  after  he 
left  the  university  It  completed  the  chain  of  recollection  in  the 
mind  of  Mr.  Atherton  ;  — it  was  impossible  not  to  contrast  it  with 
the  sad  reality ;  and,  as  he  unavoidably  cast  a  glance  from  the  one 
to  the  other,  a  sigh  involuntarily  escaped  him.  —  "  You  see  a  great 
alteration,  I  suppose?"  said  Mr.  Burley. —  'I  do,"  said  his  friend. 
"  We  grow  old  fast  enough,  when  we  do  nothing  to  hasten  tho 


96  RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 

chariot  of  time."  —  Mr.  Burley  appeared  to  understand  the  reproof; 
and  with  some  little  appearance  of  confusion,  he  wished  him  a  good 
night  s  rest,  and  retired. 

Mr.  Atherton's  reflections  were  of  a  most  painful  character.  He 
cast  his  eyes  around  the  room,  and  thought  he  discovered  the  sig 
nals  of  approaching  poverty ;  two  or  three  panes  of  glass  were 
broken,  and  the  air  was  excluded,  by  stiff  paper,  tacked  to  the 
frame ;  the  carpet  and  the  counterpane  were  ragged,  and  the  dust, 
which  had  oeen  suffered  to  accumulate  upon  the  scanty  furniture, 
was  indicative  of  sluttery  and  sloth.  He  had  also  observed,  that  his 
old  friend  was  rather  shabbily  clad.  His  fatigue  had  well  paid  in 
advance  for  a  good  night's  rest,  and  he  was  scarcely  on  his  pillow, 
before  he  fell  into  a  profound  sleep ;  and,  when  he  awoke,  the  next 
morning,  the  sun  was  shining  in  at  his  chamber  windows. 

He  cast  his  eyes  about  the  room,  and  was  amused  with  the  ope 
rations  of  a  venerable  spider,  whose  joints  were  evidently  comforted 
by  the  rays  of  the  bright  sun  of  an  October  morning.  The  intelli 
gent  creature  had  quitted  the  metropolis  of  its  beautiful  domain,  and 
posted  itself  on  that  side  of  it,  on  which  the  very  first  stream  of 
golden  light  must  necessarily  fall ;  and  was  moving  slowly  forward, 
to  keep,  as  long  as  possible,  beneath  the  influence  of  its  cheering 
light  and  heat.  It  had  judiciously  expanded  its  web,  where  it  waa 
least  likely  to  be  disturbed  in  its  operations,  over  the  glass  doors  of 
a  little  book-case  ;  and  where  the  exhausted  carcasses  of  numerous 
flies  and  moths,  indicated  a  long  summer's  campaign. 

His  friend  received  him,  in  the  parlor,  with  much  kindness,  but 
in  a  subdued  manner,  and  with  an  apparent  consciousness,  that,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  he  himself  was  placed  on  less  elevated  ground , 
They  had  scarcely  assembled  in  the  breakfast  room,  before  Jim 
came  running  to  his  father,  with  a  small  black  bottle  and  a  wine 
glass; —  "Father,"  said  he,  "it  's  after  eight  o'clock,  and  you 
haven't  taken  your  bitters."  —  "Mother  has,"  said  Billy.  —  Mrs. 
Burley  was  somewhat  confused,  and  her  husband  bade  the  child 
put  the  bottle  in  the  closet,  as  he  should  not  take  any,  that  morning. 

"Go  to  the  door,  Billy,"  said  Mr.  Burley,  just  after  they  had 
taken  their  seats  at  the  table ;  "  some  one  is  knocking."  Billy,  for 
once,  did  as  he  was  bidden.  —  "Father,"  said  the  boy,  as  he 
returned,  "  Mr.  Soder  wishes  to  know  if  you  will  pay  the  interest 
on  the  mortgage,  to-day ;  and  says  he  has  sent  a  great  many  times 
for  it."  Mr.  Burley  rose  and  went  to  the  door,  evidently  in  a  hur 
ried  and  angry  manner.  He  soon  came  back  and  resumed  his  seat 
at  the  table ;  but  his  efforts  were  vain  to  conceal  his  agitation  and 
frubarrassment.  Mr.  Atherton  called  his  attention  to  some  early 


RIGHT  OPPOSITE.  97 

recollections  of  college  days,  and  diverted  his  mind,  as  far  as  pos 
sible,  from  this  unpleasant  occurrence. 

After  a  visit  of  three  days,  which  probably  produced  very  1  itle 
real  happiness  to  either  party,  Mr.  Atherton  took  his  leave,  promising 
his  old  friend,  that,  whenever  he  revisited  New  England,  he  should 
certainly  see  him  again.  These  three  days  were  passed  in  the  same 
round  of  unnatural  demands  and  the  same  unabating  gratifications. 
In  compliment,  probably,  to  Mr.  Atherton,  the  morning  bitters  and 
the  slipper  cu[  were  omitted. 

Mr.  Atherton  journeyed  leisurely  along;  he  passed  over  the 
Cumberland  road,  and,  embarking  upon  the  Ohio,  at  Wheeling,  in 
one  of  those  beautiful  leviathans,  by  whose  magic  power,  the 
ends  of  the  earth  are  brought  as  near  again  together  as  they  were, 
he  was,  before  many  days,  upon  the  waters  of  the  Mississippi. 
Old  Sambo  was  permitted  once  more  to  look  upon  his  favorite 
"  live  oak  and  magnoly,"  and  Mr.  Atherton  soon  found  himself  in 
the  bosom  of  his  interesting  family.  His  health  was  surprisingly 
j.nproved,  by  the  journey ;  and  three  years  had  passed  away,  before 
a  recurrence  to  the  same  expedient  became  advisable.  Upon  the 
present  occasion,  he  determined  upon  a  sea  voyage  ;  and,  embark 
ing  at  New  Orleans,  he  came,  through  the  Gulf  of  Florida  to  New 
York.  He  journeyed  thence,  by  easy  stages,  into  New  England. 

Mr.  Atherton  was  well  aware,  that  intemperance  is  a  mental, 
moral,  and  physical  "reduction  descending."  He  endeavored  to 
prepare  his  mind  for  a  very  considerable  change,  for  the  worse,  in 
the  internal  and  external  condition  of  his  friend  ;  and  it  was  with  no 
ordinary  measure  of  sensibility,  that  he  found  himself  once  more 
before  the  residence  of  Mr.  Burley.  It  was  a  rainy  evening,  in  the 
spring ;  and  just  enough  of  daylight  remained,  while  the  stageman 
was  depositing  Mr.  Atherton's  baggage  at  the  door,  to  enable  him 
to  cast  a  general  glance  at  the  exterior  of  the  dwelling  ;  and  he  was 
gratified,  and  somewhat  surprised,  at  the  apparent  improvement. 
A  new  fence  had  been  placed  before  the  house,  and  the  front  yard 
was  in  neater  order.  In  answer  to  a  letter  from  Mr.  Atherton, 
written  shortly  after  his  return  home,  Mr.  Burley  had  thanked  him 
for  his  kind  advice,  in  a  tone  of  deep  feeling,  and  promised  to  give 
the  subject  of  entire  abstinence  the  most  serious  consideration. — 
"  God  be  praised,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  as  he  quickly  mounted  the 
steps,  and  knocked  at  the  door. — It  was  scarcely  opened,  before  he 
extended  his  hand,  but  withdrew  it  as  soon,  for  he  discovered,  that 
the  person  before  him  was  a  stranger.  — '  Pray,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Atherton,  "does  not  Mr.  Burley  live  here?"  —  "He  does  not," 
answered  tke  stranger.  — "  Really,"  said  Mr.  Athertoa>  "wiD 

VOL.  i.  9 


08  RIOHT  OPPOSITE. 

you  have  the  pood  ness  to  direct  me  to  his  residence?" — "Kight 
opposite,"  was  the  reply.  —  "  Right  opposite  !"  rejoiiuxl  Mr.  Ather- 
ton.  "  About  three  years  ago,  I  received  the  very  same  answer, 
when  asking  the  same  question  of  a  tinman,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
way,  a  Mr.  Soder,  I  think."  —  "  Very  like,  sir,"  was  the  answer, 
"  my  name  ;s  Soder,  sir;  I  kept  my  shop  over  the  way,  for  many 
years;  and  gave  up  the  business  about  one  year  ago."  —  "Mr. 
fiurley  wat  an  old  classmate  of  mine,"  said  Mr.  Atherlon,  "and  I 
have  come  a  distance  of  some  thousands  of  miles,  partly  on  account 
of  my  health,  and,  in  some  measure,  to  visit  an  old  friend."  — 
"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Soder,  "  I  don't  think  you  could  be  very 
well  accommodated  over  the  way  ;  the  tavern  is  at  some  distance, 
and  it 's  raining  hard  ;  if  you  can  put  up  with  our  plain  fare,  and  take 
a  bed  with  us  to-night,  you  will  be  quite  welcome,  I  assure  you." 
— Mr.  Atherton  accepted  the  proposal  with  many  thanks,  and  was 
soon  shown  into  the  parlor,  and  introduced  to  Mrs.  Soder,  a  bright, 
little,  old  lady,  younger,  at  sixty,  than  her  predecessor,  in  the  same 
apartment,  at  thirty-five.  The  board  was  soon  spread  ;  and  exhib 
ited  a  pattern  of  neat,  simple,  and  abundant  New  England  hospitality. 

Mr.  Atherton  was  informed  by  his  host,  that  poor  Hurley  had 
gone  down  from  bad  to  worse,  until  he  became  a  notorious  drunk 
ard.  Mr.  Soder  had  a  mortgage  upon  the  dwelling-house,  and 
Burley's  residuary  interest  was  attached,  by  other  creditors,  and  sold 
on  execution.  Mr.  Soder  bought  it,  and  became  owner  of  the 
estate.  He  could  not  readily  get  a  tenant ;  and,  though  the  house, 
as  he  said,  was  too  large  for  any  private  family,  he  had  leased  his 
old  house,  and  moved  hither.  No  person  would  take  poor  Hurley 
for  a  tenant ;  and  finally  he  had  accepted  Mr.  Soder's  oiler  of  his  old 
shop,  rent  free  ;  and  there  Burley  and  his  wife  had  continued  their 
miserable  existence,  until  about  three  months  ago,  when  Mrs.  Bur- 
ley  died  of  an  apoplexy.  Burley's  only  remaining  means  of  support 
consisted  of  a  trifling  annuity,  left  him,  in  the  will  of  his  wife's  brother, 
to  terminate  upon  the  decease  of  Mrs.  Burley  and  the  children. 
Mr.  Soder  observed,  that  the  boys  were  certainly  the  worst  in  the  vil 
lage.  Jim,  the  elder,  now  about  fifteen,  was  already  notorious  for  his 
intemperance,  and  the  other  was  as  bad,  for  his  age,  in  every  respect. 

The  extremely  mild  and  rather  melancholy  expression,  on  the 
cc  untenance  of  Mr.  Atherton,  and  his  prepossessing  manners,  had 
e>idently  won  upon  the  good  will  of  Mr.  Soder  and  his  worthy  part 
ner  ;  and  they  were  not  the  less  inclined  to  treat  him  kindly,  after 
they  had  made  the  discovery,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  that  he 
was  a  cordial  friend  to  the  temperance  reform. 

-f  Three  years*  sir,"  said  the  old  tinman,  as  he  stirra^p  his  fine, 


RIGHT  OPPOSITE.  99 

•'  three  years  have  wrought  a  marvellous  change,  for  the  worse,  in 
Mr.  Burley.  1  think,  sir,  you  would  scarcely  know  him.  It  is 
indeed  a  dreadful  thing,  to  see  a  man  of  his  talents  and  property 
sinking  so  low  in  the  world." — "  And  a  gentleman  of  such  great 
learning  too,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  she  sat  husily  engaged  with  her 
knitting  ;  "  it  is  wonderful  to  hear  the  poor  man,  when  he  can 
scarcely  stand,  talking  Greek,  by  the  hour  together.  You  remem 
ber,  my  dear,"  she  continued,  turning  to  her  husband,  "  when  (Jolo- 
neJ  Co'/y  turned  Burley  out  of  his  bar-r<x)m,  last  thanksgiving  day, 
what  a  terrible  setting  off  he  gave  the  old  Colonel  in  Helnew.  I 
did  n't  hear  him,  but  Mr.  Veazy,  the  town-clerk,  did  ;  and  he  told 
me,  himself,  that  it  was  the  most  like  Hebrew  of  anything  he  had 
ever  heard  in  his  life." — "That  was  the  very  time,"  said  Mr. 
Soder,  "  that  the  poor  man  lay  out  all  night,  on  the  ground,  by  the 
side  of  Elder  Goadly's  grog-shop.  The  Elder  tried,  in  vain,  to  per 
suade  him  to  get  up  and  try  to  walk  home.  But  Burley's  humor 
never  left  him  to  the  last ;  and,  as  he  had  gotten  his  liquor  at  the 
Elder's  shop,  he  would  not  stir,  nor  attempt  to  rise,  and  continued 
to  cry  out,  in  reply  to  the  Elder's  importunities,  Where  the  tree  falls, 
there  it  shall  lie.  It  was  a  miracle,  that  he  did  not  perish."  —  "  Poor 
fellow!"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  with  a  sigh  so  deep,  so  sincere,  that 
the  old  lady,  for  a  moment,  suspended  her  knitting.  *'  Pray,  sir," 
said  she,  "  was  Mr.  Burley  any  relation  of  yours?"  —  "  None  at 
all,"  rephed  Mr.  Atherton,  "  but,  for  four  years  of  my  lift,  and  at 
that  part  of  it,  when  the  heart  is  not  yet  hardened,  and  impressions 
can  be  more  faithfully  and  effectually  made,  we  occupied  the  same 
room  and  the  same  bed.  Tom  Burley  was  then  an  universal  favor 
ite,  a  young  man  of  respectable  talents,  an  excellent  scholar,  amia 
ble  in  his  deportment,  frank  and  upright,  in  his  character  and  conduct, 
remarkable  for  his  personal  comeliness,  and  the  expectant  of  exten 
sive  patrimonial  possessions.  —  Poor  fellow  !"  continued  Mr.  Alher- 
ton,  as  he  quietly  wiped  the  tear  from  his  eye,  "  what  is  he  now  ; 

what,  of  all  this,  at  present  remains! 1  am  afraid  poor  Burley 

is  beyond  all  power  of  recovery." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Soder ;  "  when  a  thing  is  so  far 
gone,  as  we  say,  in  our  line,  bottom  and  sides,  time  is  wasted  in 
repairing  it.  But  you  will  see  for  yourself,  sir,  to-morrow.  You 
must  expect  to  see  a  great  change,  Mr.  Atherton,  in  this  unhappy 
man.  I  have  lived  here  sixty-nine  years,  and  I  have  seen  a  great 
many  drunkards  go  their  way,  but  I  have  never  known  such  a  rapid 
change,  for  the  worse,  as  Burley's,  in  the  last  two  years  and  a 
half." 

'fhese  were  indeed  the  words  of  truth  and  soberness,  as  Mr.  Atb- 


100  RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 

erton  became  assured,  when,  upon  the  morrow,  he  paid  a  visit  to  the 
miserable  dwelling  of  his  former  friend.  The  finger  of  death  works 
not  a  more  striking  change,  until  the  body  actually  dissolves,  than 
the  ruthless  hand  of  intemperance.  Mr.  Atherton  knocked  at  the 
door.  "  Come  in,  if  you  want  to,"  replied  a  man,  in  a  rough  and 
ill-natured  tone.  It  was  Burley  ;  and,  in  a  moment  after,  Mr.  Ath 
erton  had  entered  the  apartment,  and  was  standing  before  him.  He 
had  not  long  risen,  and  was  sitting  half  dressed  upon  a  broken  chair. 
He  appeared  not  to  have  shaved,  for  a  week.  His  hair  was  very 
gray,  and  very  long.  His  face  was  bloated  and  fiery,  and  disfigured 
by  all  the  customary  tokens  of  intemperance,  in  an  unusual  degree. 
His  apparel  was  dirty  and  shabby  in  the  extreme.  The  only  furni 
ture  of  the  apartment  was  the  broken  chair,  on  which  he  sat,  a  three- 
legged  stool,  and  the  straw  bed,  which  rested  directly  upon  the 
floor,  with  its  ragged  coverlet.  He  recognized  Mr.  Atherton  imme 
diately  ;  and,  though  with  evident  confusion,  attempted  to  rise  and 
give  him  his  hand.  —  It  was  impossible; — he  was  not  drunk,  but 
in  that  condition  of  mental  stupidity  and  bodily  weakness  in  which  an 
inveterate  drunkard  rises  from  his  unprofitable  slumbers. — "Oh, 
Burley,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  as  he  drew  his  handkerchief  from  his 
pocket,  and  turned  towards  the  window  to  hide  his  emotion,  "  has  it 
come  to  this!"  —  Burley  made  no  reply.  —  A  deep  groan  caused 
Mr.  Atherton  to  turn  his  eyes  again  upon  the  unhappy  victim ;  — 
the  tears  were  streaming  down  the  cheeks  of  this  miserable  drunk 
ard,  and  he  appeared  to  be  convulsed  with  sorrow. — These  tears, 
however,  were  soon  dried  up,  and  the  agitation  as  speedily  subsided. 
They  had  not  arisen  from  grave  reflection,  nor  were  they,  in  any 
way,  connected  with  a  resolution  of  amendment :  they  were  merely 
the  mechanical  effects  of  that  high  nervous  excitability,  for  which 
the  intemperate  are  so  remarkable ;  and  whose  tears  can  no  more  be 
relied  upon,  as  indications  of  deep-seated  emotion  in  a  rational  being, 
than  that  plethoric  hemorrhage,  to  which  they  are  occasionally  sub 
ject  ;  or  that  free  perspiration,  to  which  they  are  particularly  liable, 
upon  any  sudden  alarm. 

Mr.  Atherton  was  soon  satisfied,  that  the  case  was  entirely  hope 
less.  The  cultivated  mind  of  Burley  was  utterly  gone.  All  pride, 
all  self-respect,  were  entirely  lost ;  for,  when  Mr.  Atherton  was 
about  to  depart,  the  poor  degrided  creature  held  out  his  hand,  and. 
in  a  whining  voice,  begged  foi  a  shilling.  Mr.  Atherton  told  him 
he  would  give  many  shillings  and  many  pounds,  if  he  could  see  him 
restored  to  himself.  He  took  the  poor  wretch  by  the  hand,  and 
replied,  "  Burley,  how  it  grieves  me  to  the  soul,  to  be  compelled  to 
•ay  that  I  tfare  not  trust  you,  my  bid  and  early  frieridj  with  a  ahiJ- 


RIGHT    OPPOSITE.  101 

ling  !"  —  The  besotted  creature  seemed  to  comprehend  the  suspicion 
of  his  friend,  and  again  he  burst  into  tears. 

Mr.  Atherton  was  a  judicious  and  an  honest  man  ;  and  he  did  not 
conceive,  that  he  discharged  his  conscience  by  parting  with  his 
money.  He  endeavored  to  study  the  necessities  of  the  subject, 
before  he  administered  relief.  He  agreed  with  his  host,  Mr.  Soder, 
that  nothing  could  save  this  unhappy  man,  but  a  compulsory  procosa 
of  abstinence,  and  that  even  this  would  be  extremely  doubtful. — 
**  And  how,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  can  such  a  process  be  applied  ?" 
—  "It  is  verv  difficult  to  say,"  replied  Mr.  Soder  ;  "  the  very  best 
thing,  that  could  be  done,  would  be  to  put  him  into  the  poor-house, 
but  the  little  annuity,  which  he  draws,  twice  a  year,  and  drinks  out 
in  a  fortnight,  is  in  the  way  of  such  a  measure  ;  for  the  selectmen 
will  not  receive  any  subject,  who  has  the  visible  means  of  support ; 
besides,  Mr.  Burley  has  been  so  respectable,  that  they  would  be 
very  unwilling  to  adopt  such  a  measure,  unless  the  case  were  one 
of  absolute  necessity." 

After  much  painful  reflection,  Mr.  Atherton  was  constrained  to 
abandon  this  miserable  man  to  his  fate.  He  seemed  to  be  absolutely 
brutalized  and  lost.  Before  his  departure,  he  had  requested  Mr. 
Soder  to  consider  poor  Burley's  case,  and,  if  any  suggestion 
should  present  itself,  for  the  betterment  of  his  condition,  to  draw  on 
him,  at  the  South,  for  any  amount,  which  he  might  find  it  necessary 
to  employ. 

Day  and  night,  after  his  departure,  the  mind  of  Mr.  Atherton 
continued  to  be  haunted,  by  the  disgusting  image  of  his  disfigured 
and  degraded  friend.  There  are  no  high  places  of  safety,  thought 
Mr.  Atherton,  against  the  indiscriminate  ravages  of  this  insatiable 
destroyer.  The  hewer  of  wood  and  the  drawer  of  water  may  be  its 
victim,  to-day ;  and,  to-morrow,  the  educated  and  the  refined.  At 
one  moment,  it  prostrates  the  man  of  fallen  fortune,  who  dies  of 
drunkenness  and  despair ;  at  another,  it  strikes  down  the  opulent,  in 
the  midst  of  many  friends. 

During  a  period  of  five- years,  Mr.  Atherton  had  received  no  infor 
mation  of  Burley's  fate  ;  nor  a  line  from  Mr.  Soder,  notwithstand 
ing  his  promise  to  communicate  any  information,  which  might  be 
of  importance,  in  relation  to  this  unhappy  man.     Mr.  Atherton 's 
health  had  become  so  much  improved,  that  it  no  longer  furnished 
any  inducement  for  a  journey  into  New  England.     When,  therefore, 
at  the  expiration  of  this  period,  he  again  found  himself  approaching 
its  shores,  his  motives  were  those  exclusively  of  business.     Nocori 
siderations,  but  those  of  pity,  could  move  him  to  make  further  inqui 
ries  respecting  Burley.     Mr.  Atherton  concluded,  on  the  whole, 

VOL.    I.  9* 


102  RIGHT   OPPOSITE. 

that  he  must  have  fallen  a  victim  to  his  incorrigible  hahits.  He  had 
endeavored,  unsuccessfully  however,  to  adopt,  in  relation  to  this  old 
friend,  the  fashion  of  the  Hehrews,  who  figuratively  hury  their  apos 
tates  alive,  and  speak  of  them  forever  after,  as  numbered  with  the 
dead.  His  recollections  of  early  days  were  like  refluent  billows, 
and  his  efforts  to  forget  were  as  transient  as  frail  marks  upon  the 
sand. 

He  determined,  once  more,  to  visit  the  spot.  —  He  arrived  in  the 
evening,  and  alighting  at  the  tavern,  resolved,  without  any  previous 
inquirv,  as  soon  as  he  had  taken  a  little  refreshment,  to  repair  alone 
to  the  a  welling,  in  which  he  had  found  him  last ;  to  see  the  wretched 
man  if  alive,  or  to  learn  the  circumstances  of  his  death,  if  h<;  were 
no  more. 

He  reached  the  humble  dwelling  and  tapped  at  the  door  ;  — it  was 
opened  by  a  young  woman  of  respectable  appearance,  to  whom  Mr. 
Atherton  put  the  question  if  Mr.  Burley  resided  there:  —  "No, 
sir,"  was  the  reply,  "  my  husband  has  lived  here  three  years,  or 
nearly  so." — "  Pray,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "is  Mr.  Thomas  Bur- 
ley  living]"  —  "  Oh  yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  he  is  alive  and  well : 
he  passed  by,  about  two  hours  ago."  —  "  Will  you  be  kind  enough 
to  inform  me  where  he  lives?"  —  "Right  opposite."  —  "  Right  oppo 
site!"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  with  evident  surprise.  —  "Yes,  sir," 
replied  the  young  woman,  "  right  opposite."  — At  this  moment,  a 
door  opened,  at  the  end  of  the  entry,  and  a  young  man  came  forward 
from  a  shoe-maker's  shop,  apparently  attracted  by  their  continued 
conversation. — "Husband,"  said  the  young  woman,  "here  is  a 
gentleman,  who  is  inquiring  after  Mr.  Burley."  —  "Eight  years 
ago,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  addressing  the  husband,  "I  inquired  at 
this  very  door,  for  the  residence  of  Mr.  Burley,  and  was  told  by  a 
Mr.  Soder,  that  he  lived  right  opposite.  Five  years  ago,  I  applied 
over  the  way,  and  was  informed  again  that  he  lived  right  opposite. 
And  now  I  receive  the  same  answer  from  you.  Pray,  sir,  inform 
me,  has  Mr.  Burley  reformed?"  — "  Oh  yes,  sir,"  said  the  young 
man,  with  a  smile  upon  his  countenance;  "  he  could  not  well  do 
otherwise,  for  he  got  no  spirit.  The  case  is  just  this :  one  of  his 
chaps  died  of  a  fever,  and  the  other  was  drowned  ;  and  then  he 
!ost  his  annuity,  and  they  put  him  in  the  poor-house.  The  old 
poor-house  was  burnt,  and  when  old  Mr.  Soder  died,  about  three 
years  ago,  the  town  bought  his  big  house  right  opposite,  to  supply 
its  place.  Mr.  Burley  has  been  in,  just  about  that  time.  He 
woiked  on  the  highways  a  short  spell ;  but  he  is  a  college-learnt  man, 
as  perhaps  you  know ;  and  he  got  to  be  so  regular  at  last,  that  a 
number  of  the  first  folks  here,  who  wanted  to  have  their  children 


RIGHT  OPPOSITE.  103 

get  more  learning  than  common,  persuaded  the  selectmen  to  let  Mr. 
Burley  teach  a  school.  He  has  tried  it  about  a  year,  and  they  think, 
if  he  can  abstain  firm  «pirit,  he  will  be  able  to  come  out  and  be 
respected.  He  fitted  Squire  Blaney's  son  for  college,  and  they  say 
he  was  the  best  fitted  of  all  that  entered  this  year."  —  The  shoe 
maker's  wife  noticed  that  Mr.  Atherton  repeatedly  applied  his 
handkerchief  to  his  eyes.  "  Is  Mr.  Burley  any  kin  to  you,  sir?" 
said  she.  —  "None  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Atherton.  "I  am  as  much 
rejoiced  to  hear  this  good  news,  however,  as  though  he  were."  — 
He  thanked  the  good  people  for  their  information,  and  returned  to 
the  inn,  resolving  to  visit  Burley  on  the  morrow. 

The  impression,  produced  upon  the  mind  of  Mr.  Atherton,  by 
this  intelligence,  can  scarcely  be  described.  The  warmth  of  his 
heart,  and  the  fertility  of  his  imagination,  were  immediately  brought 
into  vigorous  action ;  and,  before  he  had  reached  the  tavern,  he  had 
already  devised  a  variety  of  plans,  for  the  advantage  of  poor  Burley. 
The  benevolence  of  Mr.  Atherton  sprang  spontaneously  from  the 
natural  soil  of  the  heart.  It  was  the  benevolence  of  a  cold-water 
man,  and  not  likely  to  evaporate  with  the  fumes  of  any  unnatura 
stimulus,  employed  for  its  production. 

As  soon  as  he  had  entered  his  apartment,  at  the  inn,  he  sent  for 
the  host,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  have  a  little  conversation  with 
him,  respecting  a  Mr.  Burley,  who  was  an  inmate  of  the  village 
poor-house.  The  inn-holder,  who  was  a  remarkably  civil  man, 
observed,  that  he  had  not  been  long  a  resident  in  the  town,  and 
could  not  give  him  much  information  upon  the  subject ;  but  that  the 
selectmen  were  there,  in  session,  in  an  adjoining  room,  and  he  had 
no  doubt  the  chairman  would  be  happy  to  step  in,  and  answer  his 
questions,  if  he  desired  it,  as  soon  as  the  meeting  should  be  over. 
Mr.  Atherton  said  he  should  be  particularly  obliged  to  him,  if  he 
would.  The  inn-holder  went  out,  and  soon  returned  with  a  mes 
sage,  that  the  chairman  would  be  happy  to  wait  upon  him,  in  a 
short  time.  "  Mr.  Burley's  case,"  said  the  inn-holder,  "  is  rather 
remarkable." — "  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  his  education,  and 
property  did  not  appear  to  indicate,  that  he  would  come  upon  the 
town  for  support."  —  "  Why,  as  to  that,  sir,"  the  inn-holder  replied, 
"  I  suppose,  that  very  rich  and  very  learned  men  will  sometimes 
become  drunkards,  and  get  into  the  poor-house,  if  they  venture  upon 
the  dangerous  experiment  of  taking  spirit.  I  referred  more  particu 
larly  to  Mr.  Burley's  reformation.  It  has  been  a  town  talk  here, 
for  nearly  two  years."  —  At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a 
person  entered,  about  forty  years  of  age,  with  a  prepossessing  and 
very  intelligent  countenance,  who^i  the  inn-holder  announced  as 


104  RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 

the  chairman  of  the  selectmen.  —  After  a  short  pause,  "I  under 
stand,  sir,"  said  he,  "  that  you  wish  to  ask  some  questions  respecting 
Mr.  Burley."  —  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Atherton.  "1  feel  no  ordi 
nary  interest  hi  his  fate ;  he  was  an  early  friend  of  mine.  I  saw 
him,  about  five  years  ago,  in  a  condition  extremely  miserable  and 
degraded.  I  passed  a  night,  in  your  village,  at  that  time,  with  a 
Mr.  Soder,  who  appeared  to  take  some  interest  in  the  fate  of  this 
poor  man,  and  promised  to  write  me  ;  I  understand  the  old  gentle 
man  is  dead."  —  "  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  chairman,  "  he  has  been 
dead  rather  more  than  three  years.  I  presume  your  name  is  Ather 
ton,  sir,  is  it  not?"  —  "  It  is,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  with  somi;  little 
indication  of  surprise.  —  "Mr.  Soder,"  rejoined  the  chairman, 
"  was  my  father,  and  he  would  have  wr:ien  you,  if  he  could  have 
conveyed  any  information,  which  would  have  given  you  pleasure. 
It  was  but  yesterday  morning,  that  my  mother,  who  is  yet  living, 
was  remarking,  as  Mr.  Burley  walked  by,  that  she  wished  Mr. 
Atherton  could  witness  the  extraordinary  change,  in  this  poor  man's 
appearance.  And  I  can  assure  you,  sir,  that  it  is  not  in  his  appear 
ance  only."  —  "  Mr.  Soder,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  "  you  cannot  imagine  the  pleasure  I  receive  from  this  intelli 
gence. —  "Oh  yes  I  can,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Soder,  "for  I  have  heard 
my  father  and  mother  both  speak  of  the  kind  interest,  which  you 
took  in  this  unhappy  man.  With  your  permission,  Mr.  Atherton,  I 
will  give  you  some  account  of  all  that  has  passed  in  relation  to  Mr. 
Burley,  since  you  was  last  in  the  village."  —  Mr.  Atherton  assured 
him,  that  he  should  be  truly  obliged  to  him  for  the  information. 

"  I  will  just  observe,  in  the  outset,"  said  Mr.  Soder,  "  thai  Mr. 
Burley  was  probably  drunk,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  in  this  very 
room ;  and  from  that  time,  he  was  constantly  in  the  habit  of  carous 
ing,  in  this  very  spot,  drinking  and  playing  cards  with  old  Colonel 
Cozy,  and  a  few  of  the  same  stamp,  until  he  had  wasted  his  whole 
property.  This  house  is,  at  present,  a  temperance  tavern."  —  "  I 
thought  so."  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  from  an  observation  of  the  host." 
—  "Yes,  sir,"  continued  Mr.  Soder,  "and  an  excellent  house  it 
is  ;  the  proprietor  is  a  temperance  man  from  principle,  and  not  one 
of  those,  who  conceive,  that  the  friends  of  temperance  are  bound  to 
support  a  wretched  establishment,  and  pay  first  rate  charges  foi 
fourth  rate  comforts  and  accommodations,  merely  because  the  pro 
prietor  has  resolved  to  sell  no  spirit.  Old  Cozy,  the  former  land 
lord,  died  four  years  ago,  on  a  thanksgiving  day.  At  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  after  a  hearty  meal,  he  dropped  the  tankard  from 
his  hand,  kicked  over  the  table,  and  expired  in  a  fit. — I  think  it 
was  al»out  four  years  and  a  half  ago,  that  Mr.  Burley  lost  both  his 


RIGHT  OPPOSITE.  105 

boys,  and  with  them  an  annuity,  depending  upon  their  lives.  The 
loss  of  the  annuity  removed  the  only  ohstacle  to  hisf  reception  at  the 
poor-house.  My  father  said  it  was  the  only  chance  for  him,  though 
a  doubtful  one.  He  was  not  posted,  as  a  common  drunkard ;  and 
nis  removal  to  the  poor-house  produced  a  considerable  sensation  in  the 
village.  An  hundred  acts  of  kindness  and  generosity  were  recalled, 
which  he  had  performed  in  better  days.  But  there  appeared  to  be  no 
other  course.  He  was  found  sound  asleep,  not  far  from  a  grog-shop, 
on  a  very  cold  night,  and  the  next  morning  he  awoke  in  the  work 
house.  He  was  carried  through  the  usual  process  of  seasoning,  as 
we  call  it."  —  "Pray,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  "  what  is  thai?" — 
';  Why,  sir,"  rejoined  the  chairman,  "  we  give  them  no  ardent  spirit, 
without  any  regard  to  their  previous  habits.  They  become  extreme 
ly  weak ;  and  their  countenances  are  expressive  of  the  greatest 
human  misery.  They  commonly  believe  they  shall  die.  But  they 
are  mistaken,  to  a  man.  I  have  had  the  supervision  of  the  town's 
poor,  for  several  years ;  and,  although  we  have  received  drunkards 
of  both  sexes,  in  every  stage  of  the  habit,  and  have  adhered  scru 
pulously  to  the  system  of  total  abstinence,  we  have  not  lost  a  sub 
ject,  as  we  believe,  in  consequence  of  such  a  course.  Such  is  the 
practice  throughout  the  state,  and  such  it  has  been,  in  these  estab 
lishments,  for  many  years,  without  any  relation  to  the  general 
temperance  reform.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  earnestness  of  Mr. 
Burley's  importunities  for  rum.  He  has  told  me  since,  that  he 
expected  to  die,  for  the  want  of  it ;  and  that  nothing  could  exceed 
the  horrors,  which  he  then  endured.  —  He  was  certainly  the  lasi 
man,  in  whom  I  should  have  expected  a  reformation.  We  treated 
him  as  we  treated  others  ;  and  in  about  a  fortnight,  when  he  began 
to  recover  his  strength,  which,  by  the  way,  is  the  common  time,  he 
was  sent  out  with  a  gang  of  hands  to  work  on  the  highway.  He 
took  his  lot  very  hardly.  When  any  persons  passed,  whom  he  had 
known,  he  usually  contrived  to  work  with  his  back  towards  them. 
My  father  came  home,  one  day,  and  said  it  would  not  be  a  miracle, 
if  Burley  should  reform ;  for  he  had  slopped  and  conversed  with 
him,  on  the  road,  apart  from  the  olher  hands,  and  that  the  pool 
man  appeared  exceedingly  mortified  at  his  past  misconduct;  anH 
that  his  conversation  gave  evidence  of  a  full  possession  of  his  under 
standing.  Not  long  before  the  old  poor-house  was  destroyed  by 
fire,  he  desired  to  speak  to  me  alone.  *  Mr.  Soder,'  said  he,  '  1 
trust  I  am  sufficiently  humbled.  I  am  sensible,  that  I  have  brought 
my  misfortunes  and  my  disgrace  upon  my  own  head,  wiih  my 
own  hands ;  and  if  you  have  any  disposition  to  do  me  a  greai  favor, 
I  will  show  YOU  ihe  way.  Notwithstanding  my  degrad&iioa,  I  ain 


106  RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 

not  so  low,  even  in  my  own  esteem,  as  not  to  be  deeply  sensible,  of 
my  disgrace,  in  being  sent  to  labor  upon  the  highway.  I  feel  my 
self  able,  and  I  am  more  than  willing,  to  teach  a  village  school,  or 
even  to  prepare  lads  for  the  university.  Am  I  so  entirely  lost,  that 
nobody  will  trust  me?'  —  He  burst  into  an  agony  of  tears.  —  But  I 
fear,  Mr.  Atherton,"  said  Mr.  Soder,  "  I  fear  I  give  you  unneces 
sary  pain."  —  "  Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  the  other,  as  he  wiped  the  tears 
from  his  eyes,  "  you  give  me  nothing  but  a  melancholy  pleasure." 
—  "  Well,  sir,"  continued  the  narrator,  "  I  was  much  moved  by  his 
appeal,  and  I  told  him,  he  should  not  be  so  employed  any  more,  and 
I  \%ould  see  what  I  could  do  for  him.  The  first  person,  to  whom  I 
spoke  upon  the  subject,  was  Squire  Blaney,  of  our  village. — 
'  Try  him,'  said  he,  '  I  '11  send  my  son  to  him  to-morrow.  If  Bur- 
ley  will  keep  sober,  and  teach  a  school,  there  will  not  be  his  equal 
in  the  county.'  Nothing  could  surpass  his  grateful  emotion,  when  I 
communicated  the  success  of  my  very  first  application.  *  I  thought,' 
said  he,  '  that  I  was  alone  in  the  world  ;  but  I  find  I  am  not.  I  did 
not  expect  this  from  Squire  Blaney ;  if  there  was  a  man  in  the  village, 
who  disliked  and  despised  me,  I  thought  he  was  that  man.  How 
erringly  we  judge  of  one  another  !  Tell  Mr.  Blaney,'  said  he, '  that  I 
have  forgotten  many  injuries  in  this  world,  but  never  a  benefit ;  and 
that  I  will  strive  to  show  him,  by  my  dealings  with  his  son,  how  I 
estimate  this  act  of  kindness  to  a  fallen  man.'  — '  Mr.  Burley,'  said 
I,  'if  you  only  act  as  you  talk,  the  past  will  be  forgotten.'  — 
4  Then,'  said  he,  *  by  the  blessing  of  God,  it  shall  be  forgotten.' — 
From  that  time  to  the  present,  he  has  conducted,  in  the  most  exem 
plary  manner.  He  has  constantly  abstained  from  ardent  spirit. 
He  gave  Mr.  Blaney  entire  satisfaction,  in  the  preparation  of  his 
son  for  the  university;  and  has  now  about  twenty  scholars,  to 
whom  he  is  entirely  devoted.  He  is  not  in  the  poor-house,  except 
by  his  own  wish.  His  apartments  indeed  are  entirely  distinct,  and 
altogether  neat  and  comfortable.  We  assent  to  his  continuance, 
as  he  has  expressed  an  opinion,  that,  although  he  does  not  think 
he  should  fall  into  temptation,  he  deems  himself  safer  there  for  a 
time ;  and  his  services,  in  various  ways,  meet  the  expenses  of  his 
board  and  lodging.  The  compensation,  paid  him  for  tuition,  with 
(he  exception  of  his  ordinary  expenses,  he  scrupulously  devotes  to 
the  payment  of  his  debts.  The  very  first  debt,  which  he  discharged, 
from  these  resources,  was  a  dram-seller's  score;  he  observed,  that 
it  was  the  first,  which  ne  would  1  ave  blotted  from  the  books  of  his 
creditors,  for  it  was  the  first,  whk  h  he  desired  to  blot  from  his  own 
recollection. — He  often  speaks  o1  you,  Mr.  Atherton,  with  great 
affection  ;  and  I  shi  1  be  happy  to  v.-all  for  you  in  me  morning,  and 


RIGHT  OPPOSITE  107 

yuu  will  have  an  opportunity  of  judging  for  yourself."  Mr.  Ather  • 
ton  expressed  again  the  delight  he  received  from  this  account  of  Mr. 
Burley's  reformation  ;  and,  soon  after  Mr.  Soder  had  taken  his 
leave,  he  retired  for  the  night. 

Agreeably  to  his  promise,  Mr.  Soder  called,  at  an  early  hour, 
upon  the  following  morning,  and  proceeded  with  Mr.  Atherton  to 
the  poor-house.  —  "  It  is  likely,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Soder,  as  they  drew 
near,  "  that  Mr.  Burley  would  be  pleased  to  see  you  alone;  and  J 
will  show  you  into  the  overseers'  room,  and  let  him  know  of  your 
arrival."  —  Mr.  Athertoh  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  was 
shown  into  the  very  parlor,  in  which  he  had  been  received,  by  Bur- 
ley  himself,  just  eight  years  before. 

In  a  short  time,  Mr.  Burley  entered  the  apartment. — The  two 
friends  shook  hands,  and  sat  down  by  the  side  of  each  other,  but 
neither  could  utter  a  syllable.  The  tear  was  in  Atherton's  eye,  but 
his  features  were  lighted  up  by  a  smile  of  cordial  satisfacticn.  He 
was  evidently  surprised  and  gratified,  by  the  appearance  of  his  old 
friend.  He  was  thin  and  pale,  neatly  dressed,  in  a  coarse  suit  of 
gray,  and  nothing  remained  to  identify  the  miserable  being,  whom 
Mr.  Atherton  had  left  five  years  before,  utterly  degraded  and  for 
lorn. —  Burley  bit  his  lip,  and  struggled  hard  to  suppress  his  emo 
tion.  —  He  was  the  fiist  to  break  silence.  —  "  This  is  very  kind  in 
you,"  said  he,  "  and  I  can  truly  say  I  have  more  joy  to  see  you  here, 
under  these  humiliating  circumstances,  than  I  had  to  see  you,  in  the 
same  place,  eight  years  ago.  I  was  then  the  master  of  this  house  ; 
by  the  blessing  of  God,  I  trust  I  am  now  the  master  of  myself."  — 
"  You  are  a  rich  man,"  said  Mr.  Atherton,  grasping  him  by  the 
hand,  "  for  you  have  gotten  wisdom,  which  is  better  than  rubies." 

Mr.  Atherton  urged  his  old  friend  to  spend  the  residue  of  his  days 
at  the  South,  to  make  his  house  his  future  home ;  and  to  occm  v 
his  time,  in  the  instruction  of  youth,  as  the  preceptor  of  an  academy. 
The  good  people  of  the  village  were  extremely  unwilling  to  part 
w  ith  a  man  who  bid  fair  to  be  as  useful,  in  the  last  of  his  days,  as 
he  had  been  worse  than  useless,  in  the  beginning.  It  was  finally 
settled,  however,  that  Mr.  Burley  should  accept  the  proposal  of  his 
friend,  giving  the  parents  of  his  present  pupils  six  months'  notice  of 
his  intention. 

Th«  residue  of  this  narrative  may  be  briefly  recited.  Mr.  Burley's 
'••areer,  during  the  remaining  six  months,  was  perfectly  consistent ; 
and  he  gave  entire  satisfaction  to  his  friends,  who  continued  to 
increase  in  numbers,  till  the  period  of  his  departure. 

It  is  now  nine  years,  since  he  became  an  inmate  in  the  family  of 
Mr.  Atherton,  and  the  principal  of  an  acadamy  in  the  town  of 


108  RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 

The  case  of  Mr.  Burley  is  one  of  the  most  impressive  examples  at 
the  effects  of  total  abstinence  in  breaking  that  fatal  spell,  which  can 
bend  down  the  master-spirits  of  the  age  in  the  very  dust  of  the  earth. 
No  graduated  process,  nothing  but  total  abandonment  could  ha^e 
wrought  this  signal  reformation. 

No  more  forcible  evidence  can  be  supplied  of  the  confidence, 
reposed  in  Mr.  Burley,  by  the  friends  of  temperance,  than  the  fact, 
that  two  years  ago  he  was  requested  to  deliver  an  address,  before  the 
temperance  society,  in  the  town  in  which  he  resides.  He  accepted 
the  invitation  ;  and  few,  who  listened  to  his  remarks,  will  ever  forget 
them.  He  said,  that  he  was  entirely  willing  to  make  a  sacrifice  of 
his  own  feelings,  for  the  sake  of  his  fellow-man.  He  proceeded, 
though  he  was  frequently  interrupted  by  his  own  emotion,  to  give 
the  history  of  his  own  fall  and  restoration.  There  was  not  a  dry 
eye  in  the  assembly. 

Mr.  Burley  is  still  living,  a  consistent  cold-water  man.  He  ha* 
lived  down  an  evil  name  ;  and  however  unworthy  and  degraded  he 
may  have  been,  he  is  now  RIGHT  OPPOSITE. 


FRITZ  HAZELL. 


Hc»  on  rt  I:  possible,  t ay  some  of  our  worthy  friends,  who  have  nut  thoroughly  studied  thai  n 
M&sba'.y  cl  ij'isr,  in  the  volume  of  human  misery,  which  treats  of  drunkenness  in  all  tu  «hap««  , 
k*w  cat  it  te  |oj*ible,  ih,u  so  many  tales  can  lie  wiilten  upon  a  topic,  which  has,  lontr  since,  tt* 
the  nap  >f  novelty,  and  become  as  threadbare  us  a  castaway  garment?  The  means  of  drunkenness, 
which  have  been  desiderata,  in  every  age  and  nation  uf  the  earth,  are  infinite  ;  the  modifications  »f 
drunkennm  are  infinite  ;  and  the  eflects  of  drunkenness  are  infinite.  Nothing  is  required,  but  u> 
additional  turn  of  the  great  moral  kaleidoscope,  the  tithe  of  a  hair,  and  we  have  a  new  ooaflruraticd 
of  sin  and  misery.  To-day,  drunkenness,  produced  Oy  rum,  prostrates  some  wretcl  ed  outcast,  in  :h« 
gutter;  lo-rnorrow,  drunkenness  on  cosily  wine,  or,  in  more  fashionable  parlance,  "a  little  intfil- 
gence,"  gives  an  unexpected  turn  to  die  paragraph  of  *ome  hot-headed  negotiator,  and  a  whol« 
nation,  cursed  with  all  the  consequent  calamities  of  war,  may  regret  the  hour,  when  his  excellency 
removed  the  cork  from  his  last  bottle  of  champagne.  Alone  moment,  under  the  influence  of  th» 
awful  sconrue,  the  wife  becomes  a  widow  ;  at  another,  when  the  hurricane  of  a  drunkard's  wratfe 
liie  the  simoom  of  the  desert,  has  passed  away,  and  all  is  still,  the  child  creeps  from  its  hiding- 


It  .''.-is  also  been  a  subject  ol  inquiry,  if  these  Tales,  as  they  profess  to  be,  are  really  founded  up«u 
tact.     Assuredly  they  ate.     The  parasitical  pl.mt  clings  not   more  closely  to   the  oak,  than  a  certain 
description  of  embellishment  gathers  about   the   real  and  substantial  part  of  these  little  narratives. 
But  the  act  lal  foundation  of  ihese   '•  Temperance  Tales  "   is,  in  every  instance,  a   plain   matter  of 
fact,  cuinir  anicated  to  the  writer  by  some  obliging  friend,  in  the  same  m  inner,  in  which  a  rare  and 

lead  i.ny  individual,  IT  the  subject  matter  of  a  temperance  tale,  to 
imagination,  rather  than  to  the  great  bnzanr  of  real  life.     The  most 
brain  ire  less   likely  to  bewilder  and   astonish,  than  the  drunken  re 

he  fancy  storehouse  of  his  own 
xtravagant  conceptions  of  the 
Hies  of  the  world,  in  which  we 

occ.is.on  to  seek  the  warp  and  woof,  in  our  own  imagination,  for  the 
these. 
If  the  history  of  Fritz  Ua/.ell  should  prove  too  long,  or  too  heavy  a 
the  only  satisfactory  atonement,  which  we  can  offer,  or  which  occurs 

manufacture  of  such  articles  a* 

ax  upon  the  reader's  patience, 
o  us,  at  the  present  moment,  is 

Hodges  the  Blacksmith. 


"Do  I  not  hear  some  one  crying  murder?"  said  a  stranger,  in  a 
Bailor's  garb,  addressing  an  old  Dutchman,  who  sat  smoking  his 
pipe,  upon  the  stoop  before  his  door,  in  an  obscure  part  of  the  village 
of  Still-Valley.  The  Dutchman  slowly  withdrew  the  pipe  from  his 
mouth;  and,  when  the  volley  of  smoke,  which  issued  forth,  had 
sufficiently  cleared  away,  to  enable  him  to  obtain  a  fair  view  of  the 
inquirer,  "  Yaw,  mynheer,"  he  replied.  —  "I  hear  it  again,"  said 
the  sailor;  "  it  grows  louder  ;  what  can  be  the  meaning  of  it?"  — 
"  Vy,"  the  old  Dutchman  replied,  "  it  ish  no  more  nor  no  less  dan 
dish  here ;  Patrick  McFillagin,  vat  lives  in  dat  shmall  house  dere, 
mit  de  gaple  end,  ish  a  drubbing  Matty  McFillagin,  his  vrow.  Pat 
rick  gets  drunk,  and  Matty  gets  drunk,  and  just  apout  now,  every 
day  he  gives  her  a  beating,  and  she  cries  murder;  dat  ish  all,"  — 
"My  friend,"  said  the  stranger,  "  that  cry  is  occasioned  by  nc  com 
mon  cause  ; — there,  don't  you  hear  that  shriek?  —  and  now  it  is  all 
still  again.  I  should  not  wonder,  if  it  were  murder,  in  sober  ear- 
rot,  i.  10 


110  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

nest."  —  "Vary  veil,"  replied  the  Dutchman,  who  was  in  the  aci 
of  restoring  the  pipe  to  his  mouth,  "  may  pe  so." 

The  stranger  expressed  his  intention  of  going  immediately  to  as 
certain  the  cause.  "  Shtop,"  cried  the  Dutchman,  layii  g  his  hand 
upon  the  man's  arm,  "  McFillagin,  ven  he  ish  in  a  sphree,  ish  as 
crazy  as  a  herring  buss,  in  a  gale,  mitout  a  rudder ;  and  ye  had 
better  shtay  away.  —  But  let  me  see,  dere  ish  de  poor  poy,  leetle 
Patrick.  Poor  lad,  ven  it  blows  too  hard  for  him,  at  home,  he  often 
makes  a  port  under  my  shtoop  here.  Sometime  it  ish  late,  ven  hia 
fader  kick  him  out  of  door,  and  he  come  o/er  after  I  goes  to  bed, 
and  he  lay  just  here  all  night,  and  I  finds  him  curled  up  in  de  morn 
ing,  like  a  leetle  tog.  And  den  he  ish  so  glad  of  a  leetle  biscuit 
and  a  salt  herring,  and  he  cries  so  pad,  ven  I  tells  him  he  must  go 
home. — He  ish  a  goot  poy  ;  —  I  had  a  leetle  poy  once  myself;  juat 
such  a  poy  was  my  leetle  Fritz,  just  such  a  poy  is  Patrick." 

The  interest,  which  he  felt  in  the  fate  of  little  Patrick,  increased, 
as  it  obviously  was,  by  his  associated  recollections  of  the  child  he 
had  lost,  completely  overcame  the  old  Dutchman's  phlegm  ;  and  he 
proceeded  with  the  stranger  to  McFillagin's  dwelling.  —  All  was 
stillness  within.  They  called  at  the  door,  but  received  no  reply. 
It  was  bolted  on  the  inside.  After  knocking  repeatedly  in  vain,  they 
were  at  length  answered,  by  a  deep,  hollow  groan.  — "  Here  ish 
trouble,"  said  the  Dutchman  ;  and,  by  the  application  of  his  power 
ful  shoulder,  he  soon  burst  open  the  door.  —  An  awfully  loathsome 
scene  presented  itself  to  their  view.  McFillagin  and  his  wife  were 
both  extended  on  the  floor,  covered  with  blood ;  tables  and  chairs, 
bottles  and  glasses  were  broken  and  scattered  about  the  room.  A 
brief  inspection  assured  the  visitors,  that  the  woman  was  already 
dead  ;  her  skull  was  fractured,  and  she  had  received  several  stabs 
in  the  body.  The  man  was  just  expiring,  having  cut  his  throat 
from  ear  to  ear ;  though  speechless,  he  still  held  the  bloody  knife 
in  his  hand.  —  "Patrick,  leetle  Patrick!"  exclaimed  the  Dutch 
man. —  All  was  silence.  —  He  then  put  his  mouth  to  the  dying 
man's  ear,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  "Have  ye  mur 
dered  de  leetle  chilt?"  —  The  miserable  victim  of  intemperance  made 
a  feeble  motion  of  his  head,  to  the  right  and  left ;  and,  with  a  slight 
convulsion,  expired.  The  old  man  proceeded  to  look  under  the  beo 
and  in  the  closets,  for  the  little  boy.  Lighting  a  candle,  he  de 
scended  with  the  stranger  into  the  cellar.  —  "  Patrick,  Patrick,  pooi 
leetle  poy."  cried  the  old  man,  with  a  winning  gentleness  of  man 
ner,  utterJ'v  at  variance  with  his  uncommonly  rough  and  inauspicious 
exterior;  "  come  out,  leetle  poy,  here's  old  friend  Hazell,  come  to 
take  cai5  uf  ye,  poor  chilt !" — A  slight  movt,ment  was  heard  in  a 


FRITZ    HAZELL. 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  Ill 

corner  of  the  cellar  ;  and  the  poor  terrified  child  was  seen  pex?ring 
forth  from  the  ash-hole,  whither  he  had  fled  for  refuge,  from  the 
domestic  hurricane,  which  had  left  him  fatherless  and  motherless. 

Man's  imagination,  under  its  highest  pressure,  could  not  produce 
a  more  moving  example  of  helplessness  and  terror.  This  bare 
footed  and  ragged  little  urchin,  whom  misery  had  adopted  for  its 
own,  looked  warily  from  his  place  of  refuge,  and  half  recoiled  at  the 
sight  of  the  stranger.  The  old  Dutchman  placed  himself  before  the 
ash-hole,  and  endeavored  to  coax  him  forth,  with  that  kind  of  whin 
ing  importunity,  which  is  sometimes  employed  to  seduce  an  oft- 
beaten  dog  from  his  covert.  —  "  Come  out,  leetle  Patrick,"  said  he, 
extending  his  hand,  in  the  most  encouraging  manner,  and  twisting 
his  weather-beaten  features  into  a  smile  ;  "  don't  pe  feared,  leetle 
poy,  it's  nopody  but  old  Hazell."  —  Thus  comforted  and  assured, 
the  poor  child  ventured  forth  ;  and,  drawing  as  closely  as  possible 
to  the  old  Dutchman,  he  held  fast  by  his  garments,  with  the  ner 
vous  grasp  of  a  drowning  boy.  Trembling  and  agonized  with  terror, 
he  crie^.,  in  a  whispering  voice,  "  You  won't  let  father  kill  me,  will 
you?"  —  "  No,  my  poy,"  replied  the  old  man,  as  he  wiped  the  tear 
from  his  eye.  —  "Won't  you  let  me  live  with  you?"  cried  little 
Patrick,  in  the  most  beseeching  tone ;  "I  will  do  everything  you 
tell  me  ;  oh,  do  let  me  go  home  with  you,  Mr.  Hazell."  While  he 
uttered  this  supplication,  he  laid  hold  of  the  old  man's  hand,  and 
covered  it  with  kisses  and  tears.  This  was  too  much  for  an  old 
Dutchman's  heart.  After  a  momentary  effort  to  control  his  strong 
natural  feelings,  "  Mynheer,"  said  the  old  man,  "  vat  shall  pe  done 
mit  dish  poor  leetle  toad  ?"  — "  It  is  a  bad  case,"  said  the  stranger, 
looking  at  his  watch ;  "  I  should  think  it  would  be  best  to  send  for 
the  coroner."  —  "  Vy,  dat  ish  for  de  dead  ;  vat  goot  vill  de  coroner 
do,  for  dish  leetle  poy]  dat  ish  vat  I  say,  mynheer." 

The  stranger  was  one  of  that  numerous  class,  who  fly  instantly  to 
the  rescue,  upon  the  cry  of  murder  or  of  fire  ;  and  whose  benevolence 
is  particularly  active,  while  the  scene  and  the  circum  dances  of  afflic 
tion  are  of  a  busy  and  stimulating  character ;  but  who  have  no  taste 
for  the  subsequent  detail,  for  the  humble  process  of  quietly  balancing 
the  final  account  of  misery.  He  was  therefore  somewhat  perplexed, 
by  the  Dutchman's  practical  interrogatory.  —  After  a  short  pause, 
he  replied,  "  Why,  T  suppose  the  neighbors  will  see,  that  he  is  taken 
care  of."  —  "  Yaw,  mynheer,"  rejoined  the  old  man  ;  "  but  who  ish 
de  neighbors,  as  it  ish  written  in  de  goot  book  ?  If  old  Hazoll  vas  so 
poor,  dat  he  could  not  py  a  sa't  herring,  he  would  send  voord  over 
de  great  pond  ;  and  he  would  find  neighbors  in  Amsterdam,  I  var- 
rant.  Now*  mynheer,  look  at  dish  here  ragged,  le«tle  poy ;  ven  he 


112  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

make  up  his  face,  and  cry  just  like  dat,  if  I  had  not  put  my  leetle 
Fritz  in  de  ground,  mit  my  own  hand,  I  should  say,  sure  it  ish  do 
same  chilt."  —  Old  Hazell  patted  little  Patrick  on  the  head,  and 
bade  him  wipe  his  eyes ;  "  Pe  a  goot  chilt,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  and  I  vill  pe  a  kind  father  to  ye,  and  I  shall  call  ye  Fritz,  aftei 
de  poor  poy,  vat  I  buried.'1 

The  little  fellow  cried  louder  for  joy,  than  he  had  cried  for  sorrow. 
—  The  benevolence  of  the  Scotch  and  the  Irish  has  been  contradistin 
guished,  by  a  pleasant  writer,  who  affirms  that  a  Scotchman  will 
walk  all  over  Aberdeen,  to  serve  a  friend,  to  whom  he  would  refuse 
a  baubee  ;  while  an  Irishman,  upon  a  like  occasion,  will  empty  his 
pocket  of  its  last  farthing,  though  he  will  not  go  a  mile.  The  phi 
lanthropy  of  the  stranger  was  somewhat  of  the  Irish  character.  He 
caught  the  contagion  of  the  scene  before  him ;  and,  taking  out  his 
pocket-book,  handed  the  Dutchman  a  two-dollar  bill,  to  be  employed 
in  any  way  he  might  think  proper  for  the  boy's  advantage ;  promis 
ing,  at  the  same  time,  to  call  at  the  Dutchman's  house  to  inquire 
after  the  child's  welfare. 

Little  Patrick,  whom,  from  a  respect  for  the  old  Dutchman's  wishes, 
we  shall  hereafter  call  by  no  other  name  than  Fritz,  was  immedi 
ately  removed  to  his  new  quarters.  The  rags  in  which  he  had  been 
so  long  enveloped,  were  thrown  aside ;  and,  with  a  measure  of  sen 
sibility,  utterly  at  variance  with  the  general  appearance  of  the  out 
ward  man,  the  old  Dutchman  unlocked  a  particular  trunk,  and  drew 
forth  a  complete  suit  of  boy's  wearing  apparel.  "  Go  into  de 
chamber,  my  poy,"  said  he,  "  and  put  'em  on ;  I  hope  ye  vill  pe  as 
goot  a  chilt,  as  de  leetle  fellow,  vat  vore  'em  last."  —  When  he 
returned,  clad  in  his  new  apparel,  the  old  man's  recollections  com 
pletely  overpowered  him ;  he  took  the  child  upon  his  knee,  and 
seemed,  as  he  wept  over  him,  almost  to  realize  that  he  held  com- 
nr. union  with  his  long-buried  boy. 

An  inquest  was  held  forthwith  upon  the  bodies  of  Patrick  McFil- 
agin  and  Matty  his  wife.  It  was  an  occasion  of  peculiar  interest  to 
the  coroner.  He  kept  the  grog-shop,  four  doors  above  McFillagin's 
house,  and  he  deeply  felt  the  loss  of  two  such  valuable  customers. 
Old  Hazell  and  the  sailor  appeared  before  the  jury,  and  related  the 
facls,  as  they  have  already  been  recited  ;  but  Mr.  McFlaggon,  the 
Iriiih  coroner,  persuaded  the  jury,  that  they  ought  not  to  decide  upon 
circumstantial  evidence,  «,nd  that  it,  would  be  very  wrong  to  hurt  the 
poor  people's  feelings,  after  they  were  dead.  Accordingly  they 
brought  in  a  verdict  of  accidental  death.  —  "  Veil,"  said  old  Hazell, 
when  he  heard  of  the  verdict,  "dat  ish  droll  enough;  here  ish 
mj  vat  get  drunk,  and  kill  his  vife,  and  cut  his  dwn  throat 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  113 

•  .&  sure  as  viskey  ;  and  McFlaggon,  vat  sell  de  rum,  say  it  ibh  acci 
dental  ;  veil,  dat  peats  me  and  all  de  Dutch  peside." 

The  horrible  outrage,  which  we  have  just  now  related,  produced 
no  ordinary  measure  of  excitement,  in  the  village  of  Still- Valley. 
There  is  something  extremely  romantic  in  this  simple  appellation. 
When  I  entered  this  village,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  through  a 
cluster  of  tall  hills,  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  I  fancied  the  hamlut 
before  me  to  be,  of  all  places  upon  earth,  the  abode  of  peace.  — 
Still-Valley  !  A  more  appropriate  name  could  not  have  been  chosen 
for  this  sequestered  spot !  —  "  Pray,  sir,"  said  I  to  an  aged  man, 
whom  I  met,  at  the  entrance  of  the  village,  "  do  the  habits  of  the 
people,  in  this  neighborhood,  continue  to  justify  the  name,  which  they 
have  chosen  for  their  valley?" —  "  Why,  as  to  that,  sir,"  he  replied, 
"  since  the  late  murder,  the  temperance  folks  have  been  making 
something  of  a  stir  here,  and  one  of  the  distilleries  has  stopped. 
For  several  years  there  have  been  commonly  four  at  work  in  the 
valley."  —  "Bless  me!"  I  exclaimed,  "then  it  takes  its  name 
from  the  distilleries.  I  had  fallen  into  an  extraordinary  mistake ;  1 
thought  it  had  obtained  its  title  from  the  quietness  of  the  spot."  — 
The  old  man  laughed  heartily  at  my  simplicity,  and  assured  me  that 
1  was  altogether  mistaken  ;  and  that  he  doubted,  if  a  population  of 
fifteen  hundred  noisier  people  could  be  found  in  the  commonwealth. 

Midnight  broils,  broken  heads,  and  bloody  noses  were  as  common 
in  Still- Valley,  as  in  any  other  village,  possessing  equal  facilities  for 
jitoxication ;  but  the  late  atrocious  murder  of  Patrick  and  Matty 
McFillagin  had  produced  an  unusual  sensation  of  horror ;  and  pre 
pared  the  way  for  the  introduction  of  the  temperance  reform.  With 
a  population  of  not  more  than  fifteen  hundred  inhabitants,  this  village 
contained  four  distilleries,  five  taverns,  and  nine  shops  or  stores,  at 
which  ardent  spirit  might  be  obtained.  The  greater  part  of  the  vil 
lagers  were  as  much  addicted  to  the  use  of  rum,  as  if  it  were  the 
natural  beverage  of  God's  appointment.  A  man,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Still- Valley,  would  have  been  accounted  under- 
witted  or  insane,  who  neglected  so  simple  a  remedy  for  nine  out  of 
ten  of  all  those  diseases,  that  man  is  heir  to.  By  these  inhabitants, 
and  their  worthy  ancestors,  through  many  generations,  it  had  been 
esteemed  a  perfect  panacea,  for  every  malady  within  ai.d  without. 
For  a  weak  stomach,  or  a  sore  shin,  or  unwelcome  news,  or  a  cry 
ing  child,  there  was,  in  the  opinion  of  this  enlightened  community, 
no  remedy  like  rum.  Without  this  necessary  stimulus,  the  good- 
man  could  not  go  to  mill,  nor  the  good-wife  hang  on  her  kettle. 
These  villagers  could  not  conclude  "  a  trade"  about  a  horse-cart  01 
a  heifer,  v^K..  a  little  rum.  The  lawyer,  the  minister,  and  the 

VOL.  i  10* 


114  FRITZ 

doctor  could  not  plead,  nor  preach,  nor  prescribe,  without  a 
rum.  If  all  the  rum-jugs  in  Still-Valley  had  been  the  tutelary  dei 
ties  of  the  people,  they  could  not  have  been  worshipped  with  a  supe 
rior  measure  of  devotion  They  were  the  objects  of  their  first 
attention,  in  the  morning,  and  the  last,  at  night.  A  dead  drunkard 
could  not  be  committed  to  the  place,  appointed  for  all  living,  with- 
ort,  a  parade,  at  the  side  of  the  coffin,  which  contained  his  remains, 
of  that  very  poison,  which  had  brought  him  to  his  end ;  and  the 
friends  and  relatives,  in  honor  of  the  dead,  drank  a  little  of  the 
poison,  which  destroyed  him.  Rum  was  not  only  the  appropriate 
beverage  of  the  heavy-laden,  but  the  oil  of  joy  for  the  merry-hearted, 
tie  who  gave  way  to  his  feelings,  so  far  as  to  be  fuddled,  at  a  fune 
ral  of  this  description,  might  be  considered  as  paying  a  practical 
tribute  of  sympathy  and  respect  to  the  departed  ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  wedding  feast,  conducted  on  principles  of  perfect  sobriety, 
portended  an  insipid  honey-moon,  and  an  extremely  stupid  and  mo 
notonous  career.  At  the  period  of  the  McFillagin  murder,  a  propo 
sition  to  pull  down  the  meeting-house,  and  convert  the  burying- 
ground  into  a  corn-field,  would  not  have  appeared  a  more  outrageous 
attempt  upon  the  liberties  of  the  people,  than  the  proposition  of  total 
abstinence  from  ardent  spirits  ;  contemplating,  as  it  obviously  does, 
an  abridgment  of  the  liberty  of  being  drunk.  These  villagers  had 
proceeded,  year  after  year,  like  the  inhabitants  of  many  other  towns, 
in  a  career  of  perfect  inconsistency.  They  had  entered  the  temples 
of  the  Lord  immemorially,  on  the  Sabbath  day ;  and  the  temples  of 
Baal,  on  every  other  day  of  the  week.  They  regularly  insulted  the 
majesty  of  Heaven,  on  God's  holy  day,  by  offering  their  heartless 
prayers,  not  to  be  led  into  temptation  ;  while  they  were  fearlessly 
throwing  themselves  in  the  way  of  it,  from  Monday  morning  to  Sat 
urday  night.  From  the  first  of  January  to  the  last  of  December,  in 
every  year,  a  considerable  number  of  miserable  beings,  who,  of 
course,  had  once  been  temperate  men,  descended  into  the  drunkard's 
grave  ;  and,  as  the  drinkers  were  infatuated  by  their  insatiable  appe 
tite  for  liquor,  and  the  sellers  were  blinded  by  their  reckless  cupid 
ity,  the  curse  of  intemperance  appeared  to  be  entailed,  with  all  it« 
horrible  and  loathsome  retinue  of  evils,  upon  the  village  of  Still- 
Valley. 

News  of  the  McFillagin  murder  flew  from  one  end  of  the  valley 
to  the  other ;  it  found  its  way  into  the  village  newspaper,  accompa 
nied  with  an  invitation  to  the  villagers  to  combine  for  the  purpose 
of  abolishing  the  use  of  ardent  spirits.  The  incident  of  the  little 
orphan  boy,  and  the  charitable  regard  to  this  unfortunate  child, 
exhibited  by  "  our  worthy  townsman,"  Mr.  Peter  Hazell,  were  by 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  115 

no  means  forgotten.  The  citizens,  friendly  to  the  cause  of  temper 
ance,  were  invited  to  assemble  on  a  particular  day,  at  the  town-hall, 
for  the  promotion  of  this  laudable  object.  This  invitation  appears 
to  have  excited  the  indignation  of  a  considerable  number  of  the  tip 
piers,  toddy-makers,  and  toad-eaters  of  Still- Valley.  They  paraded 
with  colors  flying  ;  and,  marching  with  the  implements  of  their  pro 
fession,  to  a  neighboring  hill,  they  planted  their  standard,  and 
bestowed  upon  the  spot  the  title  of  Merry  Mount ;  the  very  name, 
given  by  Morton  and  his  followers  to  Mount  Wollaston,  in  early 
times ;  and  which  appellation  was  afterwards  changed,  by  good  old 
Gov.  Endicott,  to  Mount  Dagon.  Here  these  advocates  of"  liberal 
principles'1''  listened  to  an  extempore  oration  upon  liberty  and  equal 
ity,  from  Tim  Smith,  the  Mirabeau  of  the  valley.  Tim  concluded, 
by  smashing  two  empty  bottles  together,  which  was  followed  by 
three  cheers  from  the  whole  company.  Colonel  Pandowdy,  who 
was  once  a  worthy  farmer,  but  could  not  withstand  the  shock  of 
military  glory,  and  ruined  himself  by  training  and  treating,  offered 
sundry  spirit-stirring  resolutions  ;  the  last  of  which  contained  a  pro 
posal  to  spend  the  evening,  in  a  rational  manner,  at  McFlaggon's 
shop.  These  resolutions  were  received  with  shouts  of  applause, 
and  passed  by  acclamation. 

After  passing  the  day  in  this  praiseworthy  manner,  this  interest 
ing  group,  considerably  augmented  in  the  evening,  by  journeymen 
and  apprentices,  and  followed  by  a  train  of  idle  and  curious  persons, 
repaired  to  the  sign  of  the  POT  OF  ALE,  where  the  worthy  McFlag- 
gon,  the  man  of  the  people,  forewarned  of  their  intention,  stood 
ready  to  bid  them  welcome ;  having  provided  himself,  for  the  occa 
sion,  with  two  supernumerary  tapsters. 

The  majority  of  this  assembly,  it  cannot  be  denied,  were  more 
ready  for  rebellion,  than  for  the  exercise  of  their  reasoning  powers. 
McFlaggon,  himself,  had  no  idea  of  the  highly  excited  condition  of 
his  visitors. — "  Three  cheers  for  McFlaggon,  the  friend  of  the  rights 
of  man,"  cried  Tim  Smith,  as  the  mob,  for  such  it  was,  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  rum-seller's  door.  Three  cheers  were  immediately  sent 
forth  from  the  top  of  their  lungs.  — "  Gentlemen,"  McFlaggon  ex 
claimed,  holding  up  both  his  hands,  in  a  supplicating  manner,  "  any 
thing,  which  my  shop  contains,  is  entirely  at  your  service  ;  but  you 
know  the  stir,  that  is  getting  up  in  the  village,  on  account  of  tem 
perance,  and  I  beg  you  to  spare  my" "Six  cheers  for  temper 
ance,"  cried  Peter  Buckram,  the  drunken  taiJor,  as  he  stood, 
supporting  himself,  by  the  fence,  over  the  way.  The  fancy  took 
with  every  member  of  the  multitude  ;  and  six  cheers  have  been 
seldom  delivered  with  greater  energy,  by  an  equal  number  of  men 


116  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

and  boys.  —  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  gentlemen,  have  some  regard  foi 
the  reputation  of  my  shop.  Here,  gentlemen,  for  ten  years,  I  have 
sold  ardent  spirit  in  peace  ;  I  beseech  you,  gentlemen,  to  disperse  ; 
lo-morrow,  all  that  my  shop  contains,  shall  be  at  your  service.  Be 
sides,  gentlemen,  Deacon  Gill,  who  kept  this  stand,  and  sold  the 
best  of  rum,  in  this  very  shop,  for  thirty  years,  is  now  on  his  death 
bed,  on  the  other  side  of  the  way.  I  pray  ytu,  gentlemen,  to  show 
some  token  of  grateful  respect  for  Deacon  Gill."  —  "  Nine  cheera 
for  Deacon  Gill,  cried  old  Crupper  the  harness-maker;  "  he  fiibt 
taste  I  ever  got  was  from  the  deacon."  —  The  action  of  the  electric 
fluid  was  scarcely  ever  more  instantaneous,  than  the  obstieperous 
response  to  this  drunken  appeal ;  how  far  it  contributed  to  acceler 
ate  the  worthy  deacon's  exit,  we  cannot  say ;  but  certain  it  is,  that 
he  faintly  inquired  the  cause  of  the  uproar  ;  and,  being  informed  that 
it  was  occasioned  by  a  drunken  mob,  before  his  old  stand,  his  mind 
appeared  to  wander,  and  he  feebly  cried,  "  Lock  the  till,"  and 
expired. 

McFlaggon,  foreseeing  the  impending  confusion,  instantly  pro 
ceeded  to  put  up  his  shutters,  preparatory  to  closing  his  shop. 
Colonel  Pandowdy,  who  had  no  idea  of  being  prevented  from  carry 
ing  his  resolution  into  effect,  of  passing  the  evening,  in  a  rational 
manner,  at  McFlaggon's  shop,  immediately  interposed. — "Mr 
McFlaggon,"  said  he,  stepping  briskly  within  the  door,  "  two  gal 
lons  of  whiskey,  if  you  please."  —  "Colonel  Pandowdy,"  replied 
McFlaggon,  "  your  score  is  run  up  pretty  well  already,  and  I  must 
see  the  money,  before  I  furnish  the  liquor.  You  have  promised  pay 
ment  every  day,  for  the  last  three  months."  —  "  You  lie,  you  old 
rum-selling  rascal,"  cried  the  colonel.  —  McFlaggon  attempted  to 
expel  his  customer,  and  a  scuffle  ensued.  Hence  arose  a  scene  of 
confusion,  without  parallel  in  the  history  of  grog-shops.  In  the 
very  onset,  a  demijohn  of  old  Jamaica,  which  had  arrived,  that  very 
afternoon,  from  the  city,  for  the  special  edification  of  old  Madam 
Frizzle,  the  squire's  widow,  was  capsized  on  top  of  the  iron  stove. 
Tho  vessel  was  immediate1  -oken,  and  the  liquor  in  flames.  Pan 
dcwdy  and  McFlaggon  .&£!&£  'nd  writhing  in  single  combat,  on 
the  floor,  were  soake'*  and  eavekij.;  1,  in  an  instant,  in  five  gallons 
of  liquid  fire.  TV  j-rowd  rushed  !  *o  save  the  precious  contents 
of  the  remaining  jisijohns  and  b<T  <sls  ;  but  the  flames  had  already 
fastened  upon  quantity  of  fiajr  ^id  other  combustible  articles,  and 
the  «iestrnct;  yf  the  shop  a?K-  .cs  contents  appeared  to  be  inevitable 
The  u.iiir  ^g  cries  of  ike  &  *  murder  had  gone  forth  into  the  valley , 
the  vil>  ,5<J  bell  had  goc^d  the  alarm ;  and  the  Water  spout,  for 
such  *+A  the  :nii>r.tjac  «itle  of  a  little  engine,  somewhat  exceeding 


FRITZ  FIAZELL.  117 

Ihe  size  of  a  candle-box,  soon  came  trundling  along  towards  the 
Bcene  of  uproar.  In  the  mean  time  McFlaggon,  wh«  had  succeeded 
in  getting  the  upperhand,  was  holding  down  Colonel  Pandowdy  in 
the  midst  of  the  hurning  Jamaica.  All  thought  of  the  destruction  of 
his  property  appeared  to  be  completely  swept  away,  before  the  hur 
ricane  of  an  Irishman's  wrath.  At  length,  two  or  three  of  the  by 
standers,  who  were  less  drunk  than  the  majority,  exclaiming  that  i*. 
would  be  a  shame,  to  suffer  the  colonel  to  be  killed  by  the  coroner 
rushed  in,  and  tore  the  combatants  asunder.  They  came  forth  liter 
ally  enveloped  in  flame,  and  the  engine,  which  had  just  begun  to 
play,  contributed  its  friendly  relief,  by  showering  upon  them  the 
contents  of  a  neighboring  goose-pond,  from  which  it  was  supplied. 
The  premises  were  entirely  consumed  ;  and  the  sheriff,  who  came 
to  disperse  the  mob,  finding  an  unusual  collection  of  his  customers 
together,  availed  of  the  occasion,  and  served  a  goodly  number  of 
writs  and  executions. 

The  shameful  occurrences,  to  which  we  have  alluded,  were  obvi 
ously  calculated  to  give  additional  interest  to  the  meeting  of  the 
friends  of  temperance,  which  had  been  appointed  for  the  following 
day.  The  assembly  was  highly  respectable,  in  point  of  numbers, 
and  comprised  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  substantial  inhabitants 
of  the  valley.  It  was  a  subject  for  surprise  and  regret  to  many,  that 
neither  the  doctor,  lawyer,  nor  clergyman  was  present,  at  this  inter 
esting  meeting.  The  Reverend  Janus  Syllabub  was  in  the  habit  of 
shadowing  forth  his  opinions,  upon  a  great  variety  of  subjects,  in 
his  ordinary  discourses.  Without  any  direct  indication  of  the  tem 
perance  reform,  he  had  alluded  to  it,  very  plainly,  upon  more  occa 
sions  than  one.  He  was  of  opinion,  that  societies  were  needless, 
and  that  every  individual  should  look  to  himself;  that  pledges  wero 
traps  for  the  consciences  cf  men  ;  and  that  a  little,  upon  extraordi 
nary  occasions,  might  be  taken  with  safety  and  propriety.  He 
excused  himself  for  not  attending  the  meeting,  having  been  called 
to  administer  spiritual  consolation  to  two  of  his  parishioners,  who 
were  seriously  injured  at  the  late  conflagration,  in  mind,  body,  and 
estate.  —  The  lawyer,  Mr.  Grippit,  candidly  admitted  that  temper 
ance  was  "  a  good  thing,"  but  declared,  that  he  had  not  made  up 
his  mind  entirely  to  total  abstinence.  He  regretted  that  he  could 
not  attend,  as  he  was  engaged  in  getting  ready  for  an  arbitration  of 
some  matters,  in  dispute,  between  Colonel  Pandowdy  and  Mr.  Me 
Fhurffoii.-- Doctor  Manna  had  stated,  that  he  did  not  think  ardent 
spirits  hurtful,  used  in  moderation,  for  Dr.  Holyoke  took  a  little 
every  day,  and  lived  an  hundred  years.  Doctor  Manna  excused 


118  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

himself,  for  not  attending  the  meeting,  on  account  of  his  necessary 
attendance  on  two  of  his  patients,  who  were  dangerously  bunit,  a* 
the  late  fire. 

Notwithstanding  the  absence  of  Jiese  important  personages,  the 
meeting  was  regularly  organized  ;  and  the  temperance  society  of 
Still- Valley  commenced  its  operations  with  more  than  sixty  sub 
scribers  to  the  pledge  of  total  abstinence.  A  committee  was 
appointed  to  wait  upon  Parson  Syllabub,  Squire  Grippit,  and  Doctor 
Manna,  requesting  each  of  these  dignitaries,  to  accept  the  presi 
dency  of  the  society  ;  but  "  they  all  with  one  consent  began  to  make 
excuse."  The  office  was  finally  conferred,  by  an  unanimous  vote, 
upon  old  Captain  Hazell,  who  had  surprised  many  of  his  neigbbors, 
by  the  excellent  good  sense  of  his  speech,  in  favor  of  the  abandon 
ment  of  spirituous  liquor.  Unrestrained  by  the  presence  of  the 
clergyman,  the  doctor,  and  the  squire,  the  plain  common  sense  of 
the  substantial  citizens  of  the  valley  was  delivered,  by  a  variety  of 
speakers,  in  the  most  frank  and  unembarrassed  manner.  Direct 
allusions  were  made  to  those  awful  and  disgraceful  exhibitions, 
which  had  lately  been  presented  in  the  village  ;  and  old  Captain 
Hazell  was  called  upon,  by  the  moderator,  to  give  an  account  of  the 
McFilligan  murder.  This  he  performed  in  the  most  natural  man 
ner ;  and  when,  at  the  conclusion,  he  pointed  to  a  little  boy  in  the 
gallery,  and  exclaimed,  "  Dat  ish  de  leetle  poy  dere,  mit  de  gray 
jacket ;  dat  ish  all  vat  ish  saved  from  de  wreck,"  all  eyes  and  all 
hearts  were  gathered  to  the  spot.  The  imperfect  character  of  the 
old  man's  English  gave  an  additional  attraction  to  the  clear-headed 
and  substantial  remarks,  which  it  served  to  convey.  Those  two 
young  men,  in  the  north-east  corner  of  the  gallery,  who  were 
excited  to  mirth,  at  the  commencement,  would  probably  admit,  that 
they  were  willing  and  deeply  interested  listeners,  at  the  close. 

"  Dere  ish  notting,  vat  I  loves  more,  in  de  morning,"  said  Cap 
tain  Hazell,  "  dan  a  schnap  of  de  old  Hollands.  I  does  no  py  'em 
here ;  it  ish  de  real  Schedam  Gineva,  vat  I  imports  myself  from  my 
old  friends,  Van  Scrompfen,  Broders,  and  Company,  in  Amsterdam. 
I  have  taken  a  leetle  in  de  morning,  and  a  leetle  just  afore  I  goes' 
to  bed,  for  forty  years.  Now,  in  dish  goot  cause,  I  am  ready  to 
five  'em  all  up.  'Pon  my  voord,  I  am  afeard  to  trink  any  more. 
Dish  last  week  I  gets  a  letter  from  Amsterdam,  vat  tells  me,  dat 
Rend  Van  Pelien,  de  burgomaster,  as  goot  and  as  great  a  man  aa 
ever  live,  after  old  Barneveldt  de  Stadtholder  and  General  Wash 
ington,  ish  a  poor  old  toad  of  a  trunkard.  If  any  pody  say,  '  Cap. 
tain  Hazell,  which  ish  to  pe  de  first  trunkard,  you  or  Van  Pelten?' 
I  would  not  dare  to  say  it  would  pe  de  burgomaster.  Poor  Van 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  119 

Pelten  ish  gone  on  de  rocks,  a  total  loss.  I  vill  go  right  apout,  and 
shteer  no  longer,  in  de  track  of  de  burgomaster.  —  My  old  fader 
was  vat  you  call  a  moderate  trinker ;  and  he  die  a  goot  old  man,  at 
de  great  age  of  eighty,  and  in  de  use  of  all  his  faculties ;  only  he 
could  not  shtir  a  shtep  for  de  gout,  for  de  last  ten  years.  Very  veil, 
my  fader  give  de  sugar,  at  de  bottom,  to  my  older  broder,  Jahn 
Hazell.  —  Poor  fellow!  he  took  de  cursed  dishtemper,  and  hid  his 
young  brown  hair  in  de  trunkard's  grave.  Dish  was  a  lee? in  to 
my  fader  ;  he  never  gave  me  a  trop  in  my  chilthood,  nor  till  I  was 
free,  at  twenty-five.  'Now,'  I  says  to  myself,  '  I  am  sixty-four  • 
it  will  not  pe  long  pefore  I  gets  to  my  second  chilthood,  and  I  shall 
pe  in  as  much  danger  den,  as  I  vas  in  de  first.'  —  Suppose  I  say, 
'  I  vill  take  a  leetle,  and  only  upon  extraordinary  occasions;'  very 
veil,  dat  vill  do,  if  de  vind  hold  just  so ;  but,  sure  as  viskey,  I  shall 
take  a  leetle  more,  ven  it  ish  blowing  a  leetle  harder ,  and  de  more 
I  takes,  de  more  extraordinary  my  occasions  vill  pe.  —  Here  ish  ap 
old  man  :  he  take  a  leetle  rum,  every  day,  for  sixty  years  —  he  feei 
very  safe.  But  de  time  vill  come,  ven  he  vill  have  nothing  else  U 
do  ;  ven  he  cannot  eat,  and  cannot  see,  and  cannot  hear  ;  but  he  can 
echmell  Je  vay  to  de  pottle,  and  trink  up  de  rum ;  and  dat  ish  all  he 
can  do.  —Here  ish  de  young  man,  vat  hate  de  name  of  a  trunkard 
—  he  take  a  leetle  every  day  ;  and,  ven  it  ish  hot,  and  de  scythe  ish 
dull,  he  take  a  leetle  more.  De  vife  look  sober,  and  bid  him  take 
care ;  — '  Vat,'  he  say,  '  do  you  tink  I  vill  pe  a  trunkard,  and  leave 
you  and  de  leetle  ones  to  de  care  of  a  cold  voorld  1  dere  ish  no  dan 
ger.' —  Peter  thought  dere  vas  no  danger ;  but  Peter  fell,  and  pride 
cometh  pefore  de  fall.  Vill  dat  young  man  go  mit  me  now,  to  de 
grave-yard ;  I  vill  show  him  de  grave  of  more  dan  von,  vat  vas  as 
sure  as  he  ;  but  who  died  a  poor  miserable  sot,  and  vas  buried  in  de 
trunkard's  grave;  and  left  his  children  and  vidow  beggary  and  de 
broken  heart.  —  Now,  de  temperance  folks  say  de  trade  in  all  dish 
here  kind  of  poison  ish  morally  wrong.  Dat  ish  just  vat  I  tinks, 
myself.  De  rum-seller,  he  say,  '  No,  it  ish  all  right.'  For  vy  he 
say  so  ?  Because  his  fader  and  his  grandfader  sell  rum  fifty  year 
ago.  His  fader  and  grandfader  were  deacons,  and  chairmen  of  de 
eclectmen,  and  members  of  de  Ginral  Court ;  and  it  ish  right  to  sell 
rum  now,  because  it  was  right  den.  Now,  de  vay  from  Amsterdam 
to  Oporto,  in  old  times,  vas  close  to  de  shore,  all  round  de  cnast  of 
Fiance ;  now  de  vay  ish  right  over  de  great  pond,  and  outside  do 
pay  of  Piscay,  and  so  on ;  and  it  ish  de  right  vay,  though  it  vaa 
not  de  vay  of  our  faders.  Your  faders  pay  tribute  to  de  moder 
country;  vas  dat  de  right  vay?  You  say,  'No;'  you  preak  de 
fetters,  and  set  up  for  liberty.  Dat  ish  de  very  ting  ve  vants  to  do 


120  FK.TZ  HAZELL. 

now.  Ve  have  peen  slaves  long  enough  ;  and  ve  ants  to  preak  de 
fetters  of  shame.  Do  rum-seller  say  he  sell  to  teuiperkte  men,  and 
never  to  trunkards.  Vy,  dat  ish  no  more  nor  no  less  dan  dish  here  ; 
he  sell  plenty  of  rope  ;  any  pody  may  py  as  much  vat  he  please,  and 
hang  himself  mit  his  own  hands ;  but  ven  he  have  hung  himself 
and  proken  his  neck  once,  de  goot  Christian  trader  vill  not  sell  him 
anoder  inch  of  do  rope.  —  But  de  trader  hold  on  to  de  traffic  like 
Van  Tromp  to  de  Spanish  galleons,  in  sixteen  hunder  tirty-nine. 
1  If  I  no  sell  de  rope,'  he  say,  '  some  oder  pody  vill ;  and  de  man  vill 
bang  himself,  as  sure  as  viskey.'  Veil,  vat  of  dat?  Ish  it  right  for 
mp  to  sell  dish  man  de  rope  to  hang  himself,  pecause  I  knows  dat 
deie  ish  anoder,  vat  vill  sell  him  de  rope,  if  I  vill  not?  If  a  poor 
toad  be  killed  mit  a  plunderpush,  ish  de  murderers  less  guilty, 
pecause  dere  are  twenty  of  'em  pull  de  string,  vat  ish  tied  to  de 
trigger,  dan  if  von  pull  it  alone  ?  —  But  de  trader  say  some  folk  vill 
not  preak  dere  necks  mit  de  rope,  dey  vill  only  stretch  dere  necks, 
and  strangle  demselves  a  leetle,  dat  ish  all.  *  Ve  cannot  tell  who 
vill  preak  his  neck,'  say  de  trader,  '  and  who  vill  not;  derefore  ve 
do  not  sell  de  rope  to  preak  de  neck  of  any  particular  pody.'  Veil, 
suppose  dey  does  n't.  Dere  ish  a  pretty  goot  crop  of  trunkards 
every  year ;  — just  apout  de  same.  De  rum-seller  put  de  seed  in 
de  ground  ;  and,  in  de  right  time  he  thrash  out  all  de  grain  ;  and  den 
de  overseers  pick  up  de  chaff.  De  trunken  paupers  are  made  by 
de  traders.  Now,  ish  de  man  less  guilty  of  de  crime,  who  fire  his 
gun  into  a  crowd,  and  kill  somepody,  but  he  knows  not  who,  dan 
de  man  vat  fire  and  kill  von  oder  man,  vat  stand  all  alone?  Ish  de 
trader  less  guilty,  who  sell  de  rope,  mit  his  eyes  shut,  or  mit  his 
eyes  open?  —  Let  de  trader  go.  Vat  ish  de  goot  of  de  ugly  shtufT? 
De  ploughman  vant  a  leetle  —  dat  ish  droll  enough.  Dere  vas  old 
Vansittart,  vat  ploughed  de  sea,  for  forty  year,  and  never  let  a  tiop 
come  apoard,  in  his  life.  De  traveller  and  de  vagoner  must  have  a 
leelle.  Dat  ish  more  droll  yet.  Venever  de  prute  trink  a  leetle 
vater,  de  man  must  have  a  leetle  rum.  De  peast  and  de  man  are 
just  de  same,  all  but  de  soul ;  de  pone,  and  de  muscle,  and  de  plood, 
and  de  nerve,  are  just  de  same  ;  veil,  den,  ish  it  not  enough  to  make 
a  burgomaster  shplit  his  sides  mit  laughter,  to  see  Matt.  Kelly,  de 
postman,  vat  ish  ever  so  many  stone  weight,  put  half  a  pint  of  rim 
into  his  stomach,  dat  he  may  ride  upon  de  pack  of  his  lame  mare, 
vat  gets  nottii.g  but  vater?  —  I  pe  ready,  for  von,  to  sign  de  pledge. 
It  ish  a  goot  leetle  anchor,  and  vill  keep  many  a  poor  fellow  from 
going  on  to  de  preakers ;  and  ven  a  man  vill  make  all  fast  in  dish 
vay,  de  poor  vife  and  de  leetle  children  may  shleep  in  peace,  oul 
of  de  reach  of  de  trunken  hurricane." 


FR.fZ  HAZELL.  121 

The  old  Dutchman  sat  down  in  the  midst  of  applause.  Though, 
for  many  years,  he  had  been  an  inhabitant  of  the  village,  and  was 
very  generally  respected  and  esteemed,  no  occasion  before  had 
called  forth  his  mental  powers,  in  a  similar  manner.  He  struggled 
hard  to  excuse  himself  from  the  office  of  president,  but  the  unani 
mous  acc^im  of  the  whole  assembly  left  him  no  chance  of  escape. 

It  was  well  known  in  the  village,  that  Captain  Hazell  had  on 
hand  a  very  considerable  stock  of  Hollands,  for  domestic  use.  Two 
of  the  dram-sellers  in  Still-Valley,  either  supposing  the  old  man 
would  sell  it  extremely  low,  as  he  had  joined  the  temperance 
society,  or  desirous  of  laying  a  trap  for  the  old  Dutchman,  paid  him 
a  visit,  early  the  next  morning.  What  was  their  astonishment,  as 
they  entered  his  premises,  to  see  him  engaged,  with  the  aid  of  little 
Fritz,  in  pouring  a  tributary  stream  of  the  choicest  Geneva  into  the 
little  creek,  in  the  rear  of  his  dwelling  !  They  caught  the  only 
apostrophe  which  he  uttered  :  "  Tip  it  a  leetle  more,  my  goot  poy ; 
vat  vould  my  old  friends,  yan  Scrompfen,  Broders,  and  Company, 
say.  to  see  dere  very  best  turned  adrift  in  dish  manner  !"  —  Runlet 
and  Stopple,  the  dram-sellers,  were  so  confounded,  at  this  irresist 
ible  evidence  of  the  old  gentleman's  consistency,  that  they  slunk 
away,  unperceived,  to  ruminate,  at  their  leisure,  upon  such  an 
unexpected  example  of  principle,  prevailing  over  interest  and  appe 
tite.  The  story  flew  over  the  village,  and  was  very  differently 
received,  by  the  friends  of  peace  and  good  order,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  the  lovers  of  rum  and  riot,  on  the  other.  The  former,  to  a 
man,  were  highly  gratified  by  such  an  evidence  of  Captain  Hazell's 
consistency  ;  and  the  sacrifice  of  his  personal  interest,  while  it 
increased  his  individual  respectability,  was  of  no  little  service  to  the 
cause.  On  the  other  hand,  Tim  Smith  circulated  a  report,  and  was 
by  many  supposed  to  believe  it,  that  old  Hazell  was  deranged ; 
taking  it  for  granted,  that  no  man  would  throw  away  a  whole  quar 
ter  cask  of  Hollands,  in  his  right  mind.  The  widow  Frizzle  lifted 
up  her  hands,  when  she  received  the  intelligence,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Why  could  he  not  have  made  a  present  of  it  to  poor  McFlaggon, 
who  has  lost  his  all?  It  would 4ave  helped  the  poor  man  to  set  up 
again  in  his  business.  Besides,  McFlaggon 's  wife  is  Captain 
Hazell's  only  relation,  in  this,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  in  any  other 
country."  —  "Why,  madam,"  said  Dr.  Manna,  who  had  tapped 
the  old  lady  twice  already  for  the  dropsy,  "  perhaps  you  do  not 
exactly  understand  the  drift  of  these  temperance  folks  ;  they  hope 
to  produce  an  entire  abolition  of  ardent  spirit."  —  "  Ha,  ha,  ha," 
said  this  jolly  widow,  "  I  reckon  it  will  not  be  in  our  time,  doctor* 
ha,  ha,  ha."—  "  I  think  not,  madam,"  the  doctor  replied  ;  "  '  only 

roL.  i.  11 


122  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

as  a  medicine,'  however,  is  a  part  of  the  temperance  pledge ;  and 
a  sensible  physician  will  be  governed  by  circumstances,  you  know. 
N°w,  in  your  own  case,  Mrs.  Frizzle,  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say, 
that  I  consider  a  sustaining  glass  or  two,  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
exceedingly  palatable."  —  "  Oh,  Doctor  Manna,"  she  replied,  "  you 
always  understood  my  case,  from  the  beginning.  I  do  believe  I 
should  not  live  a  week,  without  a  little  spirit.  You  know  what  a 
beautiiul  preacher  Parson  Syllabub  is,  doctor,  and  what  a  delightful 
sermon  he  gave  us,  last  Sabbath  afternoon,  about  Bonaparte  and  Lord 
Wellington :  well,  I  can  always  understand  him  better,  when  I 
brighten  up  my  faculties  with  a  little  Jamaica.  I  told  the  pars<  n  so, 
the  other  day.  «  Why,  Mrs.  Frizzle,'  says  he,  in  his  pleasant,  chatty 
way,  —  you  know,  doctor,  he  is  not  one  of  those  gloomy  ministers, 
that  are  always  talking  about  another  world, — 'why,  madam,' 
says  he,  '  I  think  I  can  always  preach  a  little  better,  after  I  take  a 
comforting  glass ;  and  I  am  not  surprised,  that  you  can  hear  a  little 
better,  after  doing  the  very  same  thing.'  .  That  is  just  what  he  said, 
doctor;  and  that  is  what  I  call  a  liberal  doctrine."  The  doctor 
availed  of  the  first  pause,  to  retire,  assuring  the  old  lady,  that  he 
thought  she  might  go  six  weeks  pretty  comfortably,  without  tapping 
again. 

The  cause  of  temperance  made  regular  progress  in  the  valley,  and 
the  president,  in  particular,  displayed  an  uncommon  zeal  in  its 
behalf,  tempered  with  the  soundest  discretion.  In  little  more  than 
a  twelvemonth,  the  number  of  the  society  was  five  hundred  and 
forty-three  ;  and  the  manifold  blessings,  which  invariably  follow  in 
the  train  of  this  glorious  reformation,  were  already  perceptible,  in 
every  part  of  the  village. 

More  than  two  years  had  passed  away,  since  the  McFillagin  mur 
der.  Fritz  Hazell,  as  little  Patrick  was  now  universally  called,  by 
the  villagers,  was  nearly  twelve  years  of  age  ;  and  it  was  a  matter 
of  common  remark,  in  the  village,  that  a  shoot  of  more  promise  sel 
dom  came  from  a  stock,  so  utterly  worthless  and  depraved.  But 
there  were  careful  observers  of  cause  and  effect,  who  explained  the 
seeming  mystery,  upon  very  intelligible  pinciples.  They  remem 
bered  the  early  days  of  Patrick  McFillagin  and  Martha  Buchanan. 
They  were  then  industrious,  temperate,  and  happy.  The  poor  girl 
gave  him  all  that  she  possessed,  —  her  humble  apportionment  of 
worldly  goods,  and  a  devoted  heart.  He  had  squandered  the  one, 
and  broken  the  other.  But,  for  several  years  after  their  marriage, 
their  dwelling  was  the  home  of  a  happy  family  ;  and  they  might  still 
have  been  seated  at  their  quiet  fireside,  had  not  the  unfortunate  hus 
band,  and  subsequently  the  wife  herself,  contracted  that  ruinous  rel- 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  _23 

'.wit  icr  spirituous  liquor,  which  turned  their  home  into  an  hell,  whose 
omy  outlet  was  the  grave.  They  were  naturally  amiable,  and  the 
L'tock,  though  certainly  depraved  of  late  years,  was  by  no  means 
originally  bad.  Little  Patrick  was  the  early  and  the  only  fruit  of 
their  marriage.  Captain  Hazell  had  placed  him  at  school,  and  he 
had  acquired  the  reputation  of  an  intelligent  and  amiable  child.  He 
was  strongly  attached  to  his  benefactor,  and  his  principal  amuse 
ments  were  the  cultivation  of  a  little  garden,  at  the  rear  of  their 
dwelling  ;  or,  in  the  long  winter  evenings,  listening  to  such  tales  of 
the  ocean  or  the  land,  as  the  old  Dutchman  was  abundantly  able  and 
willing  to  relate. 

It  was  upon  one  of  these  occasions,  when  the  loud  roaring  of  a 
midwinter  tempest  perfectly  harmonized  with  the  subject  in  hand, 
that  the  old  man  was  engaged,  in  reciting  the  story  of  his  ship 
wreck,  in  the  good  brigantine,  the  Haarlem,  in  the  German  Ocean ; 
and  he  was  as  zealous  in  the  narration,  as  though  he  had  not 
recounted  every  particular,  full  twenty  times  before,  to  the  same 
untiring  ears.  He  had  already  recited  that  part  of  the  sad  adven 
ture,  in  which  nine  of  the  crew,  who  had  broken  into  the  spirit  room, 
to  seek  oblivion  of  all  thought  and  care,  sprang  at  once  into  the 
yawl,  and,  instantly  capsizing,  were  hurried,  drunk,  into  the  pres 
ence  of  Almighty  God.  "  Poor  Captain  Wertz,  vat  I  never  shall 
forget,"  said  he,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  he  hold  on  as  long  he 
could ;  de  old  prig  vas  on  her  peam-ends,  and  ve  vas  in  de  main 
top  ;  but  de  sea  made  a  clean  preach  over  us.  Poor  old  Wertz,  he 
vas  vat  dey  call  a  temperate  trinker  ;  Van  Scrompfen,  Broders,  and 
Company  alvays  send  down  a  demijohn  of  de  very  pest,  just  afore  de 
ship  sail,  for  de  captain's  particular.  Poor  fellow  !  he  had  de  rheu- 
matiz,  and  dat  night  vas  cold  as  an  iceperg.  '  I  must  go,'  zaid  he. 
— '  Hold  on,  captain,'  zay  I ;  —  dere  vas  not  a  rope  to  lash  de  poor 
man  to  de  rigging.  —  *  No,'  he  cry,  '  I  must  go,  Hazell.'  —  *  Hold 
on,  captain,'  zay  I  to  him  ;  *  tink  of  de  vife !'  —  De  poor  fellow,  ho 
groan,  but  he  hold  on.  —  After  a  leetle,  he  cry  again,  'Hazell, 
Hazell,'  —  1  vas  de  first  mate  den,  you  know,  —  *  I  am  going  ;  dere 
ish  gold  in  de  ceiling,  remember.'  — '  Captain  Wertz,'  zay  I,  *  hold 
on  ;  tink  of  de  tree  leetle  chiltren  ;  hold  on  for  dere  sake,  captain  '  — 
'Oh  Hazell,'  he  zay,  and  he  hold  on  a  leetle  longer;  but  den  come 
anoder  great  vave.  — '  Hold  on,  captain,'  I  cries  ;  —  de  sea  roll  by 
—  ]  looks  up,  and  poor  Wertz  was  gone  !"  —  Captain  Hazell  rose 
and  took  down  his  pipe  ;  which  was  a  well-known  signal  to  Fritz, 
that  the  story  was  ended  ;  and  the  little  fellow  was  about  to  resume 
his  amusing  occupation,  under  the  old  Dutchman's  superintendence, 
of  rigging  a  pet  frigate,  which  he  hoped  to  launch  in  the  spring,  on 


124  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

the  waters  of  the  little  creek.  —  "  Put  it  avay,  my  leetle  poy,  fcr  co 
night,  and  sit  in  de  seat  here  py  me."  —  Fritz  did  as  he  was  bidder. 
The  old  man  patted  him  on  the  head,  and  the  little  fellow  looked 
up  with  a  grateful  and  devoted  expression,  upon  his  best  earthly 
friend. 

"  Fritz,  my  chilt,"  said  the  old  man,  "  ven  you  come  here,  you 
zay  you  vill  pe  a  goot  poy,  if  I  vill  pe  your  friend.  Very  veil ;  you 
has  peen  mil  old  Hazell  more  dan  two  year,  and  you  has  kept  de 
voord.  I  vants  no  petter  poy.  Ven  I  had  my  fever  de  summei 
afore  last,  for  sich  a  leetle  chilt,  you  vas  a  great  comfort.  Now, 
my  poy.  I  am  an  old  man,  dat  ish  plain  enough.  After  a  few  more 
seed-time  and  harvest,  old  Hazell  vill  lay  town  to  rise  no  more,  only 
in  de  great  day.  —  Do  not  cry,  leetle  poy.  —  No  pody  knows  ven  it 
vill  pe  ;  and  den  de  great  Got  vill  pe  de  fader  of  de  faderless.  —  Vat 
I  vants  to  zay,  ish  no  more  nor  no  less  dan  dish  here :  you  must  get 
ready  for  de  time.  You  vill  not  pe  a  land-lupper.  Ven  I  vas  uu 
pigirer  dan  you  ish  now,  I  had  peen  a  voyage  to  de  Isle  of  France, 
capin-poy  of  de  ship  Gropstock,  mit  old  Captain  Vanderhausen. 
Come,  cheer  up,  my  lad,  you  shall  not  go  to  sea  dish  shtormy  night ; 
but  ven  de  shpring  open,  may  pe  you  vill  like  to  see  a  leetle  of  de 
voorld.  Vat  you  link  of  a  trip  to  Holland,  ey,  my  poy?  You  vill 
see  de  great  city  of  Amsterdam,  and  all  de  grand  grafts,  vat  dey  call 
canals ;  and  de  fine  church  of  St.  Catharine,  and  de  Stadt  house, 
and  a  tousand  sights,  vat  vill  make  you  shtare,  I'll  varrant."  — 
Fritz  tried  to  smile  ;  but  even  the  distant  prospect  of  a  separation, 
from  his  old  friend  and  protector,  entirely  frustrated  his  endeavors. 
At  length  he  admitted,  that  he  should  like  well  enough  to  see  all  the 
fine  sights,  if  it  could  be  done  without  leaving  home.  —  "  Ha,  ha," 
said  the  old  man,  "if  ve  could  only  pring,  over  de  great  pond,  de 
Stadt  house,  and  de  statue  of  De  Ruyter,  and  a  few  of  de  pig 
churches,  de  folks  vould  run  a  leetle  vay  to  see  'em,  no  toubt ;  but 
you  have  got  to  get  de  pread  mit  de  sweat  of  de  prow,  my  leetle 
man.  Veil,  veil,  ven  de  shpring  come,  ve  vill  see  how  it  vill  pe." 

Before  the  winter  had  worn  away,  repeated  allusions  to  the  subject 
left  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  Fritz,  that  the  old  captain  was  in  ear 
nest;  and,  as  he  was  entirely  ready  to  study  the  wishes  and  follow 
the  counsel  of  his  old  fiiend,  the  little  fellow's  mind  became  gradu 
ally  prepared  for  a  separation. 

The  spring  came  at  length  ;  and,  if  any  doubt  of  his  destiny  still 
lingered  in  the  rnind  of  little  Fritz,  it  was  entirely  dissipated,  when, 
upon  the  day  after  the  captain  returned  from  a  journey  to  the  city, 
he  sent  for  Ma'a.n  Twist,  the  tailoress,  and,  placing  before  her  some 
cloth  and  check,  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  he  addressed  her 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  125 

as  follows :  "I  zay,  my  goot  voman,  de  poy  vill  vant  hi.lf  a  tozen 
blurts  of  de  check,  jacket  and  trowsers  of  de  plue,  and  a  coat  vat  de 
sailors  call  a  pea-jacket,  of  de  shaggy  cloth.  Come,  my  poy,  and  pe 
measured."  Little  Fritz  obeyed.  In  a  few  days,  the  clothes  were 
finished,  and  Gouge,  the  joiner,  had  sent  home  a  small  sea-chest.  In 
the  pleasure  of  this  new  acquisition,  Fritz  had  already  blunted,  in 
some  degree,  the  sensibility,  which  the  prospect  of  a  separation  had 
produced.  Five  hundred  times  already  he  had  turned  the  ke)  of 
his  new  chest ;  and  when,  on  the  Sabbath  before  his  departure,  he 
dressed  himself  for  church,  in  his  blue  suit,  and  mounted  his  black 
riband  and  new-glazed  hat,  which  shone  under  the  bright  sun  of  a 
May-day  morning,  like  an  election-cake,  the  idea  of  separation  did 
not  appear  so  very  terrible,  as  it  had  done,  some  three  months 
before.  Even  a  youthful  widow  will  sometimes  derive  a  small 
measure  of  melancholy  consolation  from  the  becoming  set  and 
fashion  of  her  weeds. 

Sabbath  evening,  the  last,  which  the  old  man  and  little  Fritz 
were  to  pass  together,  before  his  departure,  was  very  profitably 
spent  in  giving  him  good  counsel  for  his  future  way.  — "Dere 
ish  no  von,  so  young  as  you,"  said  the  old  man,  "  vat  put  his 
name  to  de  temperance  pook ;  I  hope  dere  ish  no  von,  ever  so 
old,  vat  keep  de  pledge  petter.  Ven  you  gets  to  Amsterdam,  pe 
sure  to  take  de  letter,  vat  I  put  in  de  chest,  to  Van  Scrompfen, 
Broders,  and  Company,  de  first  ting,  as  you  gets  ashore.  Any 
podies  vill  show  you  de  varehouse,  ven  you  shows  dem  de  letter. 
Mind  and  take  off  your  hat,  my  poy,  so  soon,  vat  you  gets  in  de 
counting-room.  Dere  ish  no  fear  put  dey  vill  find  you  plenty  of 
voyages.  Dey  vill  make  a  man  of  you,  Fritz,  as  dere  faders  afore 
'em  made  a  man  of  me.  Van  Scrompfen  is  de  portly  gentleman, 
mil  de  pig  vig.  All  de  broders  vear  de  vigs,  put  Van  Scrompfen 
vear  de  piggest  vig  of  'em  all.  Don't  pe  fear'd,  if  he  look  at  you 
pretty  sharp  ;  dat  ish  his  vay.  —  Ven  your  fader  and  moder  vere 
taken  a  vay,  dere  vas  a  man,  whom  I  never  did  see  afore  nor  since, 
?at  put  in  my  hand  two  tollars,  to  pe  laid  out  for  you,  my  chilt,  aa 
I  might  tink  for  your  goot.  He  vas  a  kind-hearted  sort  of  a  pody  , 
and  he  zay  he  vould  come  to  see  how  you  get  on,  put  he  never  did. 
Now  I  have  laid  out  de  money,  in  de  pest  vay  I  know  how,  for  your 
goot. "  So  saying,  he  took  from  a  drawer  a  new  Bible,  firmly  bound, 
and  with  a  pair  of  strong  clasps.  In  the  first  page,  the  old  man  had 
written  with  his  own  hand,  "  Fritz  Ilazell.  The  gift  of  an  unknown 
friend."  —  "Dere,"  said  he,  "shtick  to  dat  goot  pook,  and  de  Got 
of  de  faderless  vill  never  forsake  you,  my  poy.  — Ven  I  vas  eighteen 
year  old,  I  vas  first  mate  of  a  fine  ship.  In  five  or  six  year,  I 

VOL.  i.  11* 


126  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

hopS  to  see  you  come  home  de  mate  of  a  vessel  of  four  hunder  ton. 
Till  dat  time,  I  vants  you  to  sail  in  de  employ  of  Van  Scrompfen, 
Broders,  and  Company.  You  vill  write  me,  venever  you  gets  a 
goot  chance.  Now,  my  chilt,  ve  must  pe  up  mit  de  lark;  let  us 
say  de  prayer,  and  go  to  ped." 

The  next  morning,  early,  they  proceeded  for  the  city.  They 
arrived  at  the  very  last  hour;  the  Triton's  topsails  were  already 
loosened  to  the  wind,  and  the  little  fellow  was  scarcely  put  on  board, 
before  her  anchor  was  up,  and  she  was  standing  down  the  harbor. 
The  old  man  gave  him  a  hearty  shake  by  the  hand.  Neither  iiusted 
himself  to  utter  a  syllable  to  the  other.  Thus  they  parted;  —  old 
Hazell  to  return  to  his  solitary  home  ;  —  Fritz  to  seek  his  fortune 
upon  the  wilderness  of  waters. 

Old  Hazell  confessed,  upon  his  return  to  the  village,  "  dat  it  vas 
hard  to  part  mit  so  goot  a  leetle  poy."  He  had  undoubtedly  sacri 
ficed  his  personal  feelings  to  the  boy's  welfare  and  worldly  pros 
perity. 

On  his  return,  the  old  gentleman  devoted  himself,  with  untiring 
diligence,  to  the  advancement  of  the  temperance  reform.  He 
succeeded  in  his  efforts  to  procure  a  vote  of  the  town,  at  the  annual 
meeting,  requesting  the  selectmen  not  to  approbate  any  application 
for  license  to  sell  ardent  spirit.  The  rum-drinking  and  rum-selling 
party  poured  upon  his  head  the  whole  torrent  of  their  impotent 
wrath,  in  their  customary  manner  upon  such  occasions,  by  electing 
him  a  hogreeve.  The  old  Dutchman  was  a  practical  philosopher 
He  perfectly  understood,  that  an  independent  citizen,  who  opposes 
the  will  and  pleasure  of  those,  who  are  viciously  inclined,  must 
expect  their  opposition,  while  he  receives  the  approbation  of  the 
wise  and  good.  When  he  was  told  of  his  election,  he  calmly 
remarked,  "  Very  veil,  dat  ish  all  right;  you  pring  me  every  man, 
vat  vote  to  make  old  Hazell  de  hogreeve ;  and  I  vill  show  you  all 
de  men,  vat  trinks  rum,  and  all  de  men,  vat  makes  it,  and  sells  it ; 
dat  ish  all.  I  am  too  pusy  mit  de  two-legged  prutes,  vat  gets  trunk 
and  vallows  in  de  mire,  to  tink  of  dem,  vat  goes  on  four."  During 
the  discussion  at  the  town-meeting,  Dr.  Manna,  upon  the  solicita 
tbn  of  a  large  proportion  of  his  patients,  among  the  venders  and 
partakers,  offered  a  few  well-balanced  remarks,  in  which  he  ad 
mitted,  that  temperance  was  "  a  good  thing,"  but  that  we  should 
be  cautious  and  discreet.  He  agreed,  that  a  drunkard  was  a  public 
nuisance ;  but  he  thought  a  little,  now  and  then,  not  only  harmless, 
but  beneficial  to  laboring  men  and  others.  He  begged  leave  to  say, 
that  "he  Reverend  Mr.  Syllabub,  who  could  not  attend  the  meeting, 
as  he  was  engaged  at  the  funeral  of  farmer  Drowthy,  who  had  lately 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  1557 

died  of  the  liver-complaint,  had  authorized  him  to  express  his  opin 
ion,  that  the  friends  of  temperance  were  "going  too  fast  and  too 
far."  —  Colonel  Neman,  who,  in  a  fit  of  intoxication,  a  few  weeks 
before,  had  knocked  out  his  wife's  front  teeth,  with  a  leg  of  mutton, 
rose  and  seconded  the  motion.  —  The  moderator  informed  him,  that 
the  motion  had  been  seconded  already,  by  a  friend  of  temperance.  — 
"  Well,  then,"  said  Colonel  Noman,  "I  don't  want  to  second  no 
such  thing ;  I  meant  to  say  I  approved  what  the  doctor  said  ;  and  I 
don't  doubt,  sir,  there's  nine  out  of  ten,  of  the  gentlomen  present, 
what 's  of  my  mind.  No  true  American,  what 's  got  the  giniwine 
spirit  in  him,  will  ever  submit  to  have  his  liberties  taken  away,  in 
this  here  manner."  —  Lawyer  Grippit  made  a  short  speech,  admir 
ably  adapted  to  offend  neither  party. 

A  fter  a  short  pause,  Captain  Hazell  rose ;  and  the  remembrance 
ot  his  former  success,  when  the  temperance  society  was  first  organ 
ized,  caused  him  to  be  greeted  with  loud  applause.  —  "  Mr.  Moder 
ator,"  said  the  old  man,  "it  ish  very  true  I  pe  no  toctor,  nor 
rninishter,  nor  colonel,  nor  lawyer ;  put  I  pe  an  old  man,  vat  has 
live  and  look  apout  in  dish  voorld  of  care  and  trouple,  for  many  year. 
Now,  in  de  firsht  place,  I  pe  no  toctor.  My  goot  friend  here,  de 
toctor,  he  say  dat  artent  shpirit  pe  peneficial  to  laporing  men  and 
oders.  Now,  I  say  I  pe  no  toctor,  put  I  has  got  seventy-five  pretty 
goot  toctor  in  my  pocket."  Here  the  captain  pulled  out  a  printed 
paper,  and  continued  as  follows  :  —  "I  has  just  come  from  de  city, 
vere  I  has  peen  to  ship  for  Amsterdam  de  leetle  poy,  vat  I  took 
home,  after  de  McFillagin  murter.  Ven  I  vas  in  de  city,  a  friend 
of  de  goot  cause  gives  me  dish  paper."  He  then  read  the  certificate 
of  seventy-five  physicians  in  the  city  of  Boston,  that  ardent  spirits 
are  never  necessary  for  persons  in  health,  and  often  the  cause  of 
disease  and  death.  "  Veil,  den,"  continued  the  captain,  "  here  ish 
our  goot  friend  von  vay,  and  de  seventy-five  de  toder  vay.  Who 
shall  tecide  ven  de  toctors  dishagree?"  —  Dr.  Manna  examined  the 
paper,  and  made  a  labored  and  unintelligible  explanation.  —  The 
captain  resumed  :  "  Mit  such  a  poor  old  head  as  mine,  I  cannot  tell 
vat  de  toctor  mean.  He  goes  mit  de  seventy-five,  or  he  goes  toder 
vay ;  he  can  say  vich.  For  von,  if  I  goes  py  de  toctors,  I  must  go 
mit  de  -seventy-five,  and  not  mit  von  toctor,  vat  ish  all  alone.  —  1 
say  I  pe  no  minishter ;  now,  de  toctor  say  dat  de  Reverend  Parson 
Shillipup  pe  of  de  opinion  dat  ve  go  too  fast  and  too  far.  Vat  ish  he 
fear'd  apout?  Can  ve  go  too  fast  and  too  far  to  save  our  fellow- 
creatures  from  de  untimely  grave,  in  dish  voorld,  and  de  judgment 
in  de  toder  ?  How  many  more  vifes  and  leetle  chiltren  shall  pe  made 
de  town  paapers,  pcfore  ve  pegin  again  to  put  a  shtop  to  de  rum- 


128  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

trade?  De  great  reform  ish  de  cause  of  Got,  and  vill  pe  likely  to 
suffer  apout  as  much,  from  a  leetle  too  much  zeal,  as  de  first-rate 
man-of-war  from  a  leetle  too  much  vind  in  dj  topsail.  —  I  say,  I  pe 
no  colonel,  and  I  pe  pretty  sure  I  has  none  of  de  shpirit  in  me ;  put 
vat  ish  all  de  talk  apout  taking  avay  de  liperties  of  de  people  ?  Ve 
vants  to  take  avay  de  chains  and  fetters  of  shame.  Ve  vants  to  take 
avay  none  of  your  liperties,  put  dese,  vich  I  vill  name  :  de  liperty  of 
getting  trunk  ;  de  liperty  of  apusing  and  murtering  your  vifes  and 
de  chiltren  ;  de  liperty  of  shpending  your  time  like  de  putterfly,  and 
ycur  money  like  de  protigal ;  de  liperty  of  coming  upon  de  town  for 
support ;  dese  here  and  a  few  oders  are  de  liperties,  vat  ve  vants  tc 
take  avay.  —  1  say  I  pe  no  lawyer ;  if  I  vas,  I  vould  make  a  speech, 
vich  should  pe  contrived  like  de  vale-boat,  vat  vill  row  just  as  veil, 
do  von  vay,  as  de  toder." 

Mr.  Hazell  sat  down  amidst  loud  peals  of  applause,  and  his  motion 
was  sustained  by  a  vote  of  three  to  one. 

After  an  uncommonly  short  and  prosperous  passage,  the  Triton 
arrived  at  Amsterdam  ;  and,  by  the  ship  Jason,  which  left  that  port, 
three  days  after  the  Triton's  arrival,  Captain  Hazell  received  tho 
following  letter :  — 

Amsterdam,  June  4,  18 — . 
HONORED  FATHER : 

You  always  told  me  to  call  you  father,  and  I  hope  I  shall  always 
behave  like  a  dutiful  child.  We  had  a  very  pleasant  voyage,  and  1 
handed  your  letter  to  Mr.  Van  Scrompfen,  whom  I  knew  directly  by 
your  description.  I  thought  he  looked  proper  cross,  and  he  told  me 
to  wait.  He  went  out  and  kept  me  waiting  several  hours.  On  his 
return,  he  seemed  very  different.  He  looked  very  good-natured,  ind 
spoke  very  kindly.  He  promised  to  find  me  a  good  chance,  and  I  am 
to  sail  to-morrow,  in  the  ship  John  Schmidt,  for  Sumatra.  He 
inquired  about  your  health  several  times ;  and  asked  how  you  were 
pleased  with  the  last  gin,  which  they  sent  you.  At  first,  I  was  afiaid 
to  tell  him  the  truth  ;  but  I  remembered  what  you  had  often  said  to  me, 
and  I  told  him  of  the  temperance  reform  in  America,  and  that  you  was: 
president  of  the  society,  and  felt  obliged  to  throw  the  gin  away.  The 
old  gentleman  and  all  the  brothers  fell  to  laughing  at  a  great  rate. 
When  it  was  over,  the  old  gentleman  went  to  a  little  glass  and  fixed 
his  wig,  and  seemed  to  look  as  if  he  thought  he  had  laughed  more 
than  he  ought  to.  He  told  me  very  kindly  to  be  a  good  lad,  and  he 
would  look  after  my  welfare.  —  Many  years  will  pass,  I  am  afraid, 
before  I  shall  get  to  he  mate  of  a  ship.  The  first  officer  of  the 
Triton  was  very  kind  to  me;  and,  seeing  that  I  was  desirous  of 
kneeing  something  of  navigation,  he  took  a  great  deal  of  pains  to 


FRITZ  HAZELL  129 

teach  me  He  was  a  religious  man ;  the  captain,  I  am  afraid,  was 
not.  Now,  dear  father,  I  must  leave  off.  It  icill  be  many  years 
b>  fore  I  shall  see  you  again ;  but  I  shall  never  get  into  my  hammock , 
without  praying  for  you;  and  I  trust  God  will  hear  the  prayers  of 
in  orphan  boy. 

Your  grateful  son, 

FRITZ  HAZELL. 

INotwithstanding  the  captain  had  taken  great  care,  that  Fritz 
should  have  all  the  advantages  of  the  village  school,  and  was  aware 
that  he  had  the  reputation  of  an  uncommonly  diligent  and  intelligent 
pupil,  he  was  surprised  at  so  well- written  a  letter.  He  showed  it 
round  the  village,  with  no  ordinary  feeling  of  pleasure  and  pride  ; 
and  he  brought  it  to  bear  upon  the  great  cause,  in  which  he  wag 
engaged.  "  Dish  leetle  fellow,"  he  would  say,  "  ish  dat  very  piand, 
vat  I  shnatch  from  de  purning." 

The  change  of  Van  Scrompfen's  manner  to  little  Fritz,  after 
returning  to  the  counting-room,  may  be  easily  explained.  Captain 
Hazell  had  earnestly  requested  his  old  friend  and  patron,  to  take 
Fritz  under  his  protection ;  and  the  wary  Dutchman,  resolving  to 
act  on  prudent  ground,  was  willing  first  to  know  more  of  him,  at 
head-quarters.  In  twenty  minutes  from  the  time,  when  he  left  his 
warehouse,  Van  Scrompfen  was  on  the  quarter-deck  of  the  Triton. 
"Captain,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "you  haves  a  capin-poy,  vat 
ish  named  Fritz  Hazell."  —  "  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  "  for 
the  outward  passage  only,  and  I  am  happy  to  say  it."  — "  Vy, 
really,"  said  the  old  Dutchman,  "  vat  ish  de  matter  mit  de  lad?"  — 
"  Why,  as  to  that,"  replied  the  captain,  "I  can  only  say,  he's  & 
disagreeable  little  whelp,  and  I've  taken  a  distaste  to  him,  that's 
all.  He 's  a  whining,  praying,  puritanical,  cold-water  dog  ;  and  if 
I  'd  suffered  it,  he  'd  have  done  nothing  but  read,  all  the  way  from 
Boston  light,  till  we  got  to  Amsterdam."  —  "  A  smart  lad  to  work, 
too,  Captain  Allen,"  said  Mr.  Packard,  the  first  mate,  in  a  respect 
ful  manner.  — "  Why,  that 's  true,"  said  the  captain;  "but  we 
can't  help  our  tastes  ;  I  dislike  the  chap's  ways,  and  there  's  an  end 
on't."  —  "You  say  de  poy  love  to  read,  —  vat  does  he  read?" 
inquired  Van  Scrompfen.  —  "It's  some  cold-water  book,  I  sup 
pose,"  answered  Captain  Allen,  laughing  ;  "  he  's  at  it,  from  irorn- 
ing  to  night  ;  but  there  is  Mr.  Packard,  who  thinks  better  of  the 
boy,  than  I  do:  perhaps  you  may  as  well  talk  with  him."  —  Mr. 
Packard,  who  had  been  below,  for  a  moment,  was  now  coming  aft, 
from  the  forecastle,  with  a  volume  in  his  hand ;  and  advancing  to 
Van  Scrompfen,  "  This  's  the  boy's  book,"  said  he.  —  The  old 
Dutchman  put  on  his  spectacles  ;  and  opening  the  title-page,  "  Vy,'' 


130  FRITZ 

ne  exclaimed,  "  it  ish  de  pest  pook,  in  de  voorld."  —  Mr.  Packard 
requested  to  know  the  object  of  the  gentler. lan's  inquiries  ;  and  was 
frankly  told,  that  the  boy  came  highly  recommended  from  an  old 
friend  in  New  England,  and  that  he  desired  to  ascertain  how  far  the 
recommendation  would  be  confirmed  by  the  captain  of  the  ship. 
"  Well,  then,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Packard,  "  if  that  is  your  object,  the 
lad  shall  have  justice  from  me  :  —  He  is  one  of  the  best  lads  I  ever 
knew.  Captain  Allen,  who  is  a  first-rate  seaman,  of  the  old  sort, 
would  like  the  boy  better,  if  he  could  get  him  to  curse  and  swear  a 
little,  and  take  his  grog.  The  boy  is  not  as  strong,  as  some  boys. 
He  was  very  sea-sick,  for  the  first  ten  days  ;  and  the  captain  thought 
he  pretended  to  be  sicker  than  he  was,  and  made  him  scrape  the 
deck,  and  thrashed  him  about  rather  roughly.  He  bore  it  as  well 
as  he  could.  He  cried,  but  did  not  utter  a  word  of  complaint.  I 
took  the  liberty  to  tell  Captain  Allen,  that  I  thought  the  boy  did  his 
best ;  and  he  then  told  him  to  turn  in.  The  next  day,  when  he  was 
on  deck,  the  captain  seemed  to  feel,  that  he  had  not  made  allowances 
enough  for  his  youth  and  inexperience ;  and,  calling  him  aft,  asked 
him  how  he  felt,  and  offered  him  the  remainder  of  his  grog  in  the 
tumbler  ;  the  boy  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  but  said  he  had 
rather  not  take  it.  This  the  captain  mistook  for  obstinacy ;  and, 
calling  him  a  sulky  puppy,  he  threw  the  liquor  in  his  face,  and 
ordered  him  forward.  He  has  never  liked  the  boy  since.  —  I  asked 
the  lad,  afterward,  why  he  refused  the  captain's  grog;  and  he  told 
me  he  had  signed  the  pledge  of  the  temperance  society.  This  made 
me  feel  more  kindly  to  him,  for  I  am  a  cold-water  man  myself.  I 
know  nothing  against  the  boy,  unless  it  is  a  sin  in  him  to  drink  no 
spirit,  say  his  prayers,  and  do  his  duty."  —  "  Very  goot,"  said  the 
Holland  merchant ;  and,  giving  Mr.  Packard  a  hearty  shake  of  the 
hand,  he  made  his  way  directly  back  to  the  counting-room,  with 
such  sentiments  towards  Fritz  Hazell,  as  were  exhibited  in  that 
change  of  manner,  to  which  we  have  already  referred. 

Days,  weeks,  months,  and  years  had  passed,  and  were  passing 
away,  and  Fritz  Hazell  had  not  yet  compassed  the  object  of  his 
wishes ;  it  was  still  unattained.  He  seldom  laid  down  in  his  hammock 
without  saying  to  himself,  "  When  shall  I  realize  the  expectation  of 
iry  best  earthly  friend,  and  be  justified  in  presenting  myself  before 
lit  in  again  1  When  shall  I  be  even  the  second  or  third  mate  of  a  ship 
of  four  hundred  tons?"  Many  letters  were  despatched  to  his  friend 
and  patron  ;  and,  not  unfrequently,  he  received  replies  from  Still- 
Valley,  assuring  him  of  the  old  gentleman's  continued  interest,  and 
of  the  great  pleasure  he  enjoyed  in  obtaining  the  most  favorable 
accounts  of  him.,  from  Van  Scrompfen,  Brothers,  and  Company 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  131 

The  old  captain  concluded  almost  every  letter  with  "  an  old  man's 
voord,  vat  has  sailed  almost  to  de  land's  end  in  dish  life,  dat  de 
great  pook  ish  de  pest  power-anci  or  in  dish  here  voorld  and  in  de 
toder." 

Not  only  his  elders,  but  his  superiors,  had,  upon  several  occa 
sions,  cheerfully  received  instruction,  in  the  science  of  navigation, 
from  Fritz  Hazell.  Nothing  but  his  youth  presented  any  obstacle 
to  his  advancement. 

On  theOth  of  April,  18 — ,  as  the  Antwerp,  an  Indiaman  of  twelve 
hundred  tons,  was  within  four  days'  sail  of  Canton,  with  someth  ng 
more  than  a  topsail  breeze,  the  shout  of  "A  man  overboard  !" 
stirred  the  drowsiest  spirit  into  vigorous  action.  As  soon  as  possi 
ble,  but  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  the  ship  was  hove  to.  Before  a 
boat  could  be  gotten  out,  she  had  run  nearly  two  miles  from  the  poor 
fellow.  Every  exertion  was  made  for  his  preservation,  but  in  vain. 

—  He,  who,  a  moment  before,  was  in  the  midst  of  life,  was  in  death. 

—  The  old  ship  gave  her  foresail  once  more  to  the  wind ;  the  boat 
swain's  song  was  at  an  end  ;  and  a  natural  solemnity  prevailed.     All 
hands  having  been  piped  upon  deck,  the  missing  man  was  discov 
ered  to  be  Erick  Pederson,  third  mate  of  the  ship. — The  next 
morning,  the  captain  sent  for  Fritz  Hazell  to  come  aft.  —  "  What 
is  your  age?"  said  Captain  De  Witt.  —  "Seventeen,  last  July, 
sir,"  was  the  reply.  —  "  Rather  young,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  cap 
tain  ;  "  you  are  third  mate  of  the  Antwerp,  Mr.  Hazell ;  please  to 
go  to  to  your  duty,  sir."  —  Fritz  colored  to  the  very  top  of  his 
forehead,  made  his  bow,  and  obeyed.     It  may  suffice  to  say,  that,  in 
his  department,  nothing  was  done,  but  in  due  time  and  proper  ordei 
He  gave  entire  satisfaction  to  old  Captain  De  Witt,  Who  was  note 
riously  difficult  to  please ;   and  his  continuance  in  office,  on  the 
return-voyage,  was  sufficient  evidence,  that  his  appointment  had  as 
much  to  do  with  his  merits,  as  with  the  necessity  of  the  case. 

The  faithful  discharge  of  his  duty,  demanded  no  ordinary  sacrifice 
of  personal  comfort.  Fritz  Hazell  was  naturally  of  an  anxious  tem 
perament,  painfully  scrupulous  in  the  execution  of  his  trust ;  and, 
though  free  from  all  bodily  disease,  he  had  not  that  measure  of 
strength,  and  that  power  of  enduring  fatigue,  which  are  indispensa 
ble  to  every  child  of  the  ocean.  His  return- voyage,  in  the  Antwerp, 
from  Canfc>%i  to  Amsterdam,  and  that,  which  he  shortly  after  made 
from  Amsterdam  to  New  York,  were  the  last,  which  he  ever  per 
formed. 

During  "his  passage  to  Canton,  in  the  Antwerp,  an  inciden 
occurred,  of  sufficient  interest  to  be  incorporated  with  this  brief 
history  of  Fritz  Hazell's  career.  There  was,  on  board  the  Antwerp 


132  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

a  sailor,  whose  name  was  James  or  Thomas  Rodney,  and  1  have 
forgotten  which  :  he  shipped,  as  a  first-rate  seaman,  and  he  certainly 
deserved  the  name.  He  was  even  a  good  navigator,  and  had  been 
first  mate  of  two  or  three  ships ;  but  he  had  been  driven  back  upon 
the  forecastle,  by  that  power,  which  has  overthrown  its  millions -- 
the  power  of  strong  drink.  Free-drinking  and  free-thinking  are  fn  - 
quently  fellow-travellers,  upon  the  railroad  to  ruin.  Rodney  was 
an  intemperate  man,  and  a  miserable  infidel.  *  Solitude  has  been 
«aid  to  lose  a  portion  of  its  interest,  unless  we  have  one  pleasant 
companion,  at  least,  with  .vnom  we  can  discourse  upon  its  charms. 
The  same  thing  may  be  affirmed  of  infidelity.  The  pious  and  devout 
believer  is  happy,  in  his  own  silent  convictions.  The  infidel  and 
the  atheist  are  not  happy  in  theirs.  They  derive  no  pleasure  from 
their  thoughts,  but  only  from  giving  them  utterance.  Rodney  was 
a  man  of  good  natural  powers  ;  he  was  not  an  idiot,  and  therefore  he 
was  not  an  atheist ;  but  his  mind  was  untaught  and  untutored.  He 
was  an  infidel ;  and,  in  conformity  with  the  principle  we  have  indi 
cated,  he  was  constantly  exhibiting  his  frail  and  fantastical  concep 
tions,  or  uttering  ludicrous  and  irreverent  quotations  from  Scripture. 
He  very  soon  conceived  a  dislike  of  Fritz  Hazell ;  for,  though  he 
was  the  youngest  of  the  ship's  company,  Rodney  found  it  impossi 
ble  to  excite  a  smile  upon  Hazell 's  features ;  while  the  majority  of 
the  sailors  were  roaring  with  laughter,  at  his  jeers,  upon  the  subject 
«f  the  Christian  religion.  Rodney  nevertheless  had  a  high  respect 
for  nautical  knowledge  ;  and  Fritz  rose  in  his  esteem,  by  setting 
him  right,  in  a  good-natured  way,  when  he  had  fallen  into  an  error, 
while  making  some  observations,  respecting  the  azimuth  com 
pass.  From  that  moment,  Rodney  was  less  disposed  to  trouble  him 
with  his  infidel  doctrines  ;  and,  while  throwing  out  his  taunts,  in  the 
hearing  of  others,  he  was  less  inclined  to  continue  them,  whenever 
"  that  boy,"  as  he  used  to  call  Hazell,  for  the  first  month  of  the 
voyage,  became  one  of  the  group  upon  the  forecastle.  Fritz  Hazell 
was  n>  toriously  a  religious  young  man.  After  the  regular  services 
of  the  ship,  on  the  Sabbath  day,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  resorting  to 
the  "  pest  pook  in  de  voorld,"  as  Van  Scrompfen  called  it.  He  was 
a  good  reader,  and  generally  collected  a  little  auditory  of  eight  or 
ten  of  the  ship's  company.  "  Give  us  another  chapter,  Hazell," 
was  not  an  uncommon  exclamation,  from  some  honest  tar,  when  the 
book  was  about  to  be  closed  for  the  night. 

It  has  been  remarked,  by  a  keen  observer  of  the  human  heart, 
that  we  are  often  more  apt  to  indulge  our  hatred,  towards  those 
whom  we  have  injured,  than  towards  those  who  have  injured  us 
We  very  naturally  dislike  the  continued  exhibition,  before  our  eyes. 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  133 

of  one,  who  eternally  revives  the  recollection  of  our  own  injustice. 
We  are  irritated  by  his  very  presence,  and  even  by  the  sound  of  his 
name  ;  and  our  unconsecrated  feelings  are  apt  to  break  forth,  in  the 
form  of  additional  injury  and  insult.  Rodney,  who  had  taken  a  dis 
like  to  Hazell,  for  the  reason  we  have  stated,  had  given  vent  to  his 
displeasure,  from  day  to  day,  with  an  increasing  severity  of  manner, 
for  the  first  month  of  the  passage ;  the  very  consciousness  of  the 
groundless  character  of  his  aversion,  towards  this  younger  brother, 
in  itself  supplied  an  abundant  source  of  irritation.  Upon  one  occa 
sion,  the  boatswain  remarked,  that  he  believed  the  devil  had  got  into 
the  fore  topsail,  for  it  had  set  illy  ever  since  the  ship  sailed.  — 
"  Perhaps,"  said  Rodney,  putting  a  quid  of  tobacco  into  his  mouth, 
and  looking  sarcastically  at  Hazell,  "  perhaps  somebody  can  give  us 
a  lift  with  a  spare  prayer  or  two,  to  shake  the  old  gentleman  out/' 
—  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  young  sailor,  who  had  been 
already  the  patient  subject  of  several  similar  jeers,  through  the  day. 
At  that  moment,  Rodney,  who  was  splicing  a  rope,  lost  his  jack- 
knife  overboard,  and  uttered  an  exclamation,  which  we  do  not  think 
proper  to  repeat;  observing,  with  an  air  of  vexation,  that  he  had 
always  been  an  unlucky  dog  from  his  birth.  —  "  Mr.  Rodney,"  said 
Fritz  Hazell,  with  an  expression,  in  which  manliness  and  perfect 
good-nature  were  happily  blended,  "  here  is  a  knife  ;  I  have  another 
in  my  chest ;  and,  if  you  will  accept  this,  it  is  at  your  service."  — 
"Thank  you,"  said  Rodney,  as  he  accepted  the  peace-offering  of 
an  innocent  offender.  Rodney  finished  the  splice  in  silence  ;  and, 
when  it  was  done,  he  handed  back  the  knife ;  but  Fritz  requested 
him  to  keep  it,  with  such  an  air  of  sincerity  and  hearty  good-will, 
that  he  put  it  in  his  pocket.  It  was  upon  the  same  day  that  Fritz 
gained  yet  further  upon  Rodney's  confidence,  by  giving  him  that 
evidence  of  his  knowledge  upon  a  nautical  point,  to  which  we  have 
adverted. 

That  very  evening,  Rodney  approached  the  young  sailor,  as  he  was 
standing  alone  upon  the  forecastle ;  and,  after  a  short  pause,  accosted 
him,  as  follows  :  —  "  Hazell,  if  I  'm  a  little  free,  now  and  then,  with 
my  red  rag,  I  hope  you  won't  think  I  've  a  bad  heart.  Rodney  was 
always  an  unlucky  dog  from  his  birth  ;  but  his  bark  is  a  good  deal 
worse  than  his  bite.  If  I've  hurt  your  feelings,  aboard  the  Ant 
werp,  my  young  friend,  I  'm  sorry  for  it."  — "  Mr.  Rodney,"  said 
Fritz,  giving  l.im  his  hand,  "  it  's  very  kind  in  you  to  say  this;  I 
own,  I  have  been  pained,  whenever  you  have  spoken  lightly  of  a 
religion,  which  I  consider  sacred  ;  aud  which  I  should  respect  the 
ess,  if  it  did  not  teach  me  to  forget  and  forgive."  —  "  Ah,  Hazell," 
exclaimed  Rodney,  "  I  don't  know  that  you  '11  credit  it,  after  all  you 

VOL.  I.  12 


134  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

have  heard  me  say,  at  different  times  ;  but  I  've  often  declared,  and 
I  say  so  now,  I  would  give  a  cargo  of  doubloons,  if  I  had  tnem,  to 
believe,  as  you  and  some  other  folks  believe ;  and  to  be  as  happy  aa 
you  and  they  appear  to  be."  —  "  I  am  rejoiced  to  hear  you  say  this, 
Mr.  Rodney,"  said  Hazell;  "  we  are  almost  strangers,  but  I  can 
not  help  feeling  a  decided  interest  in  your  welfare.  You  surely 
believe  there  is  a  God?"  —  "  I  do,"  Rodney  replied. — "And  do 
you  not  believe  in  the  doctrines  of  the  revelation?"  inquired  Hazell. 
"  I  wish  I  could,"  said  the  other.  —  "  You  believe,"  rejoined  Ha 
zell,  "  that  God  is  an  object  of  worship  and  of  prayer?"  —  "  Yes, 
I  do,"  answered  Rodney,  with  evident  embarrassment ;  "  but  how 
hard  it  is  to  pray!"  —  "Do  try,  Mr.  Rodney,"  said  Fritz,  taking 
him  eagerly  by  the  hand  ;  "  excuse  the  earnestness  of  one  so  much 
younger  than  yourself.  God  is  more  than  willing  to  hear  you. 
When  we  get  into  our  hammocks,  to-night,  let  us  both  pray,  that 
he  will  forgive  our  sins,  and  that  he  will  help  your  unbelief."  — 
Rodney  was  evidently  affected  by  the  interest,  which  Hazell  obvi 
ously  felt  on  his  account.  —  He  hastily  brushed  the  tear  from  his 
eye,  when  the  boatswain's  whistle  called  them  to  their  respective 
duties,  and  put  an  end  to  their  extraordinary  interview. 

The  following  day,  Rodney  was  so  much  more  grave,  in  his 
deportment,  than  usual,  that  his  messmates,  who  missed  their  daily 
allowance  of  merriment,  began  to  run  him  upon  his  remarkable 
solemnity.  That  very  night,  Rodney  and  Hazell  were  destined,  in 
the  routine  of  duty,  to  be  on  deck  together,  for  the  morning,  or,  as 
the  landsmen  would  call  it,  the  midnight  watch.  It  was  a  splendid 
night ;  and,  under  the  light  of  the  broad,  midway  moon,  the  Ant 
werp,  like  a  vast  leviathan,  seemed  to  be  taking  her  pastime,  in  the 
great  wilderness  of  waves.  She  was  sweeping  forward,  at  the  rate 
of  ten  knots  an  hour ;  and  the  silence  of  midnight  was  interrupted 
only  by  the  roar  of  the  parting  waters.  — "Hazell,"  said  Rodney, 
as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  "  I  am  a  sad  dog.  I  did  try ;  but  it  is 
easier  to  hand,  reef  and  steer,  of  a  stormy  night,  than  to  say  one's 
prayers."  —  "I  prayed  for  you,"  said  Hazell,  "from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart,  that  you  might  be  a  happier  man,  and  be  brought  to 
believe  the  cheering  truths  of  the  gospel."  —  "But  how  can  any 
man  believe  what  he  does  not  know?"  exclaimed  Rodney  with 
great  earnestness  of  manner.  — "  Do  you  not  believe  that  there  is 
such  a  place  as  London?"  said  Hazell.  —  "To  be  sure,"  was  the 
reply ;  "  for  I  have  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes."  —  "  Have  you  ever 
seen  Pekin?"  Hazell  inquired.  —  "  I  never  have,"  answered  Rod 
ney.  —  "  But  you  believe  there  is  such  a  place  ?"  —  "  To  be  sure," 
was  the  reply. — "Now,  Mr.  Rodney,"  said  Fritz  in  a  quiet  and 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  135 

modest  wny,  "  in  this  very  instance,  you  m  ist  perceive,  that  you 
firmly  and  fully  believe  that  which  you  cannot  know.  Faith  and 
knowledge  are  very  different  things.  The  Bible  itself  teaches  us,  that 
faith  is  '  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen.'  You  and  1,  Mr.  Rodney, 
went  to  sea,  long  before  we  had  studied  navigation.  On  our  first 
voyages,  we  surely  believed,  that  we  were  on  the  way  to  our  ports 
of  destination.  But,  when  we  were  out  of  sight  of  land,  we  were 
entirely  ignorant  what  course  to  steer ;  —  we  knew  not  how  to  take 
an  observation  ;  —  yet  we  believed  we  were  going  right,  though  we 
knew  nothing  about  it.  We  put  our  faith,  bur  entire  confidence  in 
the  captain  of  the  ship  ;  but  we  refuse  to  go  an  inch  with  the  Al 
mighty,  without  a  sign.  Suppose,  Mr.  Rodney,  that  every  man, 
aboaid  the  Antwerp,  who  is  as  ignorant,  as  we  both  were  once, 
should  go  aft  to  Captain  De  Witt,  to-morrow,  and  tell  him,  that  he 
did  not  believe  he  was  going  to  Canton,  because  he  did  not  know  it ! 
What  would  he  think  of  them  ?  And  what  must  God  think  of  us  ? 
How  humble  must  be  our  notions  of  Him,  the  Supreme  Being,  if 
we  suppose  his  ways  to  be  so  much  upon  a  level  with  our  own,  that 
we  can  understand  them  all!" — A  long  pause  ensued.  —  **  Ha 
zell,"  said  Rodney,  "  for  your  years,  you  are  an  excellent  seaman  ; 
but  I  '11  tell  you  what,  you  'd  make  a  better  minister.  Now,  I  con 
fess,  I  never  thought  so  much  upon  the  subject  before,  in  my  whole 
life.  I  never  read  the  Bible,  with  any  attention.  My  father  was  a 
good  man,  and  not  only  read  his  Bible,  but  gave  his  substance  to 
the  poor,  and  to  missionaries ;  and  left  his  children  little  or  nothing. 
His  friends  used  to  tell  him,  that  he  ought  to  be  more  attentive  to 
his  property  ;  but  the  old  gentleman  always  quoted  a  text  of  Scrip 
ture,  and  it  is  almost  the  only  one  than  I  can  remember, — 'Cast 
thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  for  ihou  shall  find  it.  after  many  days."1 
For  myself,  I  have  never  cared  for  money.  I  have  given  away  my 
wages  to  those,  who  seemed  to  need  them  more  than  I ;  and  here  1 
am,  a  poor,  unlucky  dog,  as  I  always  have  been." — "Mr.  Rod 
ney,"  said  Fritz,  "  I  have  a  Bible  at  your  service ;  and,  if  you  will 
give  me  leave,  I  will  mark  such  chapters,  as  I  think  will  be  useful 
to  a  person,  feeling  as  you  do,  i  nvards  God  and  tl.*  world."  — 
Rodney  acquiesced  in  the  proposal.  —  After  pacing  the  deck  to 
gether,  for  some  time,  in  perfect  silence,  "  Mr.  Rodney,"  said  Hazell. 
"  I  Ihink  you  will  not  be  offended  with  me  for  saying,  that  I  believe 
the  Bible  to  be  the  word  of  God  not  more  surely,  than  I  believe, 
that  you  would  be  a  happier  man,  and  likely  sooner  to  become  a 
religious  one,  if  you  would  leave  off  spirit."  —  Rodney  made  no 
reply,  for  several  seconds.  At  length,  he  exclaimed,  clasping  his 
hands  together,  "  Hazell,  it  has  been  my  curse  for  nearly  twenty 


136  FRITZ  HA/.JLL. 

years.  I  know  it  well.  I  have  been  trying-,  for  twelve  years,  to 
lessen  the  quantity,  but  I  have  never  been  able  to  succeed.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  this  bewitching  and  bewildering  poison,  instead 
of  being  here  upon  the  forecastle,  I  should  now  be  sleeping  in  my 
cabin,  the  captain  of  an  Indiaman." — This  he  uttered  with  the 
deepest  emotion.  —  "  Put  your  trust  in  God's  goodness  and  mercy, 
Mr.  Rodney,"  said  Fritz  Hazell,  with  great  earnestness  "read  his 
promises  with  a  willing  heart ;  try  to  believe,  and  pray,  that  you 
may  be  enabled  to  believe ;  lay  the  burthen  of  your  sins,  at  the  foot 
of  the  cross ;  and,  first  of  all,  give  up  that  habit,  I  entreat  you, 
which  is  at  war  with  all  vital  religion  —  the  habit  of  drinking.  You 
say  you  have  been  trying  twelve  years,  in  vain,  to  lessen  your  daily 
allowance.  If  the  ship  had  sprung  a  ieak,  and  there  were  six  feet 
of  water  in  the  hold,  would  you  pump  out  three,  and  let  her  fill 
again,  or  pump  her  dry,  and  stop  the  leak  once  for  all,  Mr.  Rodney  ? 
If  an  enemy  of  superior  force  were  bearing  down,  while  you  were 
at  anchor,  would  you  cut  your  cable  a  little,  or  cut  it  off?  Depend 
upon  it,  Mr.  Rodney,  there  is  no  security,  but  in  the  whole  armor 
of  a  cold-water  man.  He,  who  leaves  himself  the  liberty  of  taking 
a  little,  now  and  then,  leaves  the  nest  egg  of  destruction." — This 
conversation  had  left  a  deep  impression  on  the  mind  of  Rodney. 
His  heart  was  naturally  generous  and  frank ;  and  he  took  the  earli 
est  occasion,  the  following  day,  to  do  abundant  justice  to  the  char 
acter  of  Fritz,  and  to  express  his  regret  for  having  said  anything 
to  his  disparagement.  Fritz,  on  his  part,  was  not  backward,  ir 
performing  his  promise  of  the  preceding  evening;  and  it  soon 
became  a  source,  though  of  daily  diminishing,  surprise  to  the  ship's 
company,  to  see  Rodney,  the  scoffer,  spending  a  part  of  his  leisure, 
day  after  day,  sitting  between  decks  upon  his  chest,  and  perusing 
the  volume  of  eternal  life. 

It  would  be  a  heavy  tax  upon  the  reader's  patience,  to  lay  before 
him  a  minute  account  of  the  many  interesting  conferences,  between 
Rodney  and  Hazell,  which  led,  under  the  blessing  of  Heaven,  to 
the  entire  reformation  of  an  unhf  ^py  man.  Hazell  had  drawn  up 
an  agreem^i.t,  in  the  earlier  pa  .1  of  the  voyage,  by  which  nineteen 
)f  the  ship's  company  pledged  themselves  to  abstain  entirely  from 
ardent  spirit.  It  was  with  a  light  heart,  and  a  quick  step,  that  he 
went  aft  to  inform  the  captain's  clerk,  that  Rodney  requested  him  to 
take  notice,  that  he  would  draw  his  grog  no  longer  from  that  date. 

Ten  years  have  gone  by,  since  the  Antwerp  crossed  the  ocean  for 
Canton  ;  and  the  character  of  Captain  Rodney,  for  that  is  his  present 
title,  has  become  thoroughly  established,  as  a  devout  and  penitett 
Christian  and  an  uncompromising  cold-water  man 


FRITZ  HAZELL.  137 

About  a  week  before  the  ship's  arrival  in  Canton,  when  Frita 
JIazell,  upon  a  Sabbath  evening,  had  finished  reading  two  or  threo 
chapters  in  the  Bible,  to  a  far  more  numerous  gro.ip,  than  had 
gathered  round  him,  upon  such  occasions,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
voyage,  a  conversation  arose,  among  the  crew,  upon  the  evils  of 
intemperance.  Several  related  such  examples  of  crime  and  misery, 
as  had  come  to  their  knowledge  ;  making  together  an  awful  aggre 
gate  of  human  wretchedness  and  depravity,  by  sea  and  land.  "  My 
friends,"  said  Rodney,  after  listening  to  the  tales  of  others,  "  I  have 
been  an  eye-wilness  to  the  fatal  effects  of  intemperance,  myself.  1 
was  born  in  New  England,  and  have  some  connections  there  stLl. 
About  ten  years  ago,  I  was  travelling  on  foot,  through  a  town  u 
Massachusetts,  and  hearing  a  cry  of  murder,  I  hurried  to  the  spot. 
The  sound  came  from  a  small  dwelling.  Receiving  no  answer  at 
the  door,  it  was  burst  open,  and  I  saw,  upon  the  floor,  a  man,  wel 
tering  in  his  blood,  and  his  wife  with  her  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear, 
lying  at  his  side.  They  had  been  drinking,  and  the  man  was  not 
quite  dead,  though  he  died,  while  I  was  there."  —  "  Mr.  Rodney," 
said  Fritz  Hazell,  with  evident  agitation,  "what  was  the  name  of  that 
town?"  —  "  I  really  cannot  remember ;  I  was  never  in  it  before," 
he  replied.  —  "Did  anyone  go  with  you,  to  the  house  of  these 
unhappy  people?"  —  "Yes,"  replied  Rodney,  "  there  was  an  old 
man,  a  foreigner,  I  think,  who  went  with  me."  —  "Was  there  a 
child  in  the  house?"  —  "  There  was  a  little  boy  ;  and  I  never  shall 
forget  his  look  of  terror,  when  he  clung  to  the  old  man,  and  begged 
him  not  to  let  his  father  kill  him."  —  "Did  you  not  give  some 
money  to  that  old  man,  for  the  boy's  use?"  — "I  now  recollect  I 
did  :  I  gave  him  a  two-ctollar  bill ;  and  I  remember  it  more  perfectly, 
because  it  was  the  last  farthing  I  had.  I  had  been  up  the  country, 
to  see  my  friends,  before  I  went  to  sea  again.  But  how  could  you 
know  all  these  particulars?"  —  Fritz  sat,  for  a  few  seconds,  with 
his  hands  before  his  features. — The  surrounding  group  looked  on, 
in  silent  astonishment.  —  At  length  he  uncovered  his  face,  which 
was  bathed  in  tears,  and  exclaimed,  "  How  mysterious  and  how 
wise  are  the  dealings  of  God! — lam  that  orphan  boy. — That 
excellent  old  man,  to  whom  you  gave  your  bounty,  laid  it  out  in  the 
purchase  of  this  book ;  and  wrote,  as  you  here  see,  '  The  gift  of  an 
unknown  friend.1  In  this  very  book,  you  have  learned,  I  trust,  a 
lesson  of  eternal  wisdom."  Fritz  opened  the  volume  to  the  eleventh 
chapter  of  Ecclesiastes,  and  pointed  to  the  first  verse.  Rodney  read 
the  passage  aloud:  —  "CAST  THY  BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS,  FOR 

THOU     SHALT     FIND     IT    AFTER    MANY    DVYS." "  How    little    YOU 

thought,"  said  Fritz  Hazell,  "  when  you  bestowed  your  two  dollar* 
VOL.  i.  12* 


138  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

upon  an  orphan  boy,  that  you  were  purchasing  the  bread  of  eterna» 
.life !"  —  The  effect  produced  by  this  explanation  was  of  the  most 
solemn  and  impressive  character. — There  was  not  a  dry  eye  upon 
the  forecastle. 

When  it  was  intimated  to  Fritz,  that  he  would  be  retained  in  the 
capacity  of  third  mate,  for  the  homeward  voyage,  he  went  to  Captain 
De  Witt,  and  earnestly  recommended  Rodney,  as  better  qualified ; 
but  the  captain  would  not  change  his  arrangement. 

After  an  unusually  short  and  prosperous  passage,  the  Antwerp 
arrived  in  safety  at  Amsterdam ;  and  Fritz  had  the  pleasure  of 
receiving  letters  from  old  Captain  Hazell ;  in  which  he  stated,  among 
other  matters,  that  his  health  was  not  quite  as  good,  as  it  used  to 
be  ;  and  expressed  an  earnest  desire  of  seeing  Fritz  once  more  at 
home.  This  wish,  entirely  corresponding  with  the  views  and  feel 
ings  of  the  young  sailor ;  upon  the  recommendation  of  Captain  De 
Witt,  he  readily  obtained  the  situation  of  first  mate  of  the  brig  The 
tis,  bound  to  Philadelphia.  Before  his  departure,  he  represented 
the  case  of  poor  Rodney  so  strongly  to  Captain  De  Witt,  and  even 
to  Van  Scrompfen  himself,  that  both  of  them  expressed  their  willing 
ness  to  advance  his  interest,  should  he  be  able  to  keep  his  resolution. 
Rodney  proved  faithful  to  his  pledge ;  and  De  Witt  and  Van  Scromp 
fen  were  not  unmindful  of  their  promise. 

In  summing  up  the  account  to  the  period  of  Fritz  HazelPs  final 
departure  from  Amsterdam,  it  must  be  confessed,  there  was  an  item, 
of  painful  interest,  not  to  be  overlooked.  The  fatigue  of  a  sea-life, 
and  the  weight  of  that  responsibility,  which  fell,  in  the  present 
instance,  upon  an  anxious  spirit,  were  obviously  impairing  his 
health.  Van  Scrompfen  shook  his  head,  when  Captain  De  Witt 
was  commending  the  young  man's  behavior ;  and  observed,  "  De 
shword  ish  too  sharp  for  de  shcappord.  I  pe  feared  de  sea-life  vill 
never  do." 

Van  Scrompfen  was  perfectly  right.  Upon  the  arrival  of  the 
Thetis  in  Philadelphia,  after  a  boisterous  passage,  Fritz  Hazell  quit 
ted  her,  in  a  feeble  state  of  health.  He  now  took  his  passage  for 
New  England,  by  land ;  and,  before  his  journey  was  half  finished,  he 
had  become  already  sensible  of  an  obvious  improvement  in  his  spirits. 
A  relief  from  his  late  care  and  responsibility,  and  the  prospect  of 
revisiting  the  scenes  of  his  youth,  and  his  old  friend  and  protector, 
were  productive  of  the  happiest  effects. 

The  stage-coach,  at  length,  ascended  the  Holden  Hills ;  and,  after 
an  absence  of  nearly  six  years,  Fritz  Hazell  beheld  the  smoke,  ascend 
ing  from  the  house-tops  of  his  native  valley,  with  an  emotion,  easily 
understood,  by  those,  win  have  caught  the  first  view  of  the  village 


FRITZ   HAZELL.  139 

spire,  after  an  absencn  of  years ;  and  utterly  unintelligible  to  those, 
who  iiave  not.  The  vehicle  rolled  so  rapidly  along,  that  it  had 
passed  a  few  rods  beyond  the  dwelling  of  old  Hazell,  before  the 
driver  had  stopped  his  horses.  Fritz  was  out,  in  an  instant ;  and, 
leaving  his  sea-chest  by  the  road-side,  he  turned  back  to  the  cottage. 

—  The  window-shutters  were  closed.  —  He  tried  the  door ;  —  it  was 
fastened;  and,  raising  his  eyes,  he  read,  upon  a  small  card,  "This 
house  to  be  let;  inquire  of  Mrs.  Sukey  McFlaggon,  Administratrix, 
or  Christopher  Grippit,  her  attorney."  —  The  tale  was  summarily 
told.  —  His  old  patron  was  dead.  —  He  returned  to  the  place,  where 
his  chest  had  been  deposited.     He  sat  down  upon  it;  and,  for  a 
moment,  applied  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes.  —  "  Poor  old  man  !" 
said  he,  "perhaps  he  died  alone;  I  wish  I  could  have  been  with 
him!" 

Attracted  by  the  unusual  circumstance  of  a  passenger  and  his 
luggage,  left  at  the  road-side,  and  especially  by  his  unsuccessful 
attempts  to  get  admittance  at  the  empty  cottage ;  a  tall  old  man, 
with  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  and  a  leathern  apron  about  his  waist, 
came  forth  from  a  shoe-maker's  shop  ;  and,  after  observing  the 
stranger  for  an  instant,  stepped  over  towards  him.  —  It  was  old 
Enoch  Foster,  the  shoe-maker.  Fritz  recollected  him  immediately. 

—  "  You  don't  remember  me,"  said  the  young  sailor,  extending  his 
hand.  — "  Yes,  I  do,  now  that  you  speak,"  said  old  Enoch,  shaking 
him  heartily  by  the  hand  ;  "  I  had  a  thought  it  must  be  you,  when 
I  saw  you  go  to  the  house.     The  old  gentleman  has  gone.     He 
talked  a  great  deal  about  you,  in  his  last  sickness.     Whenever  he 
got  one  of  your  letters,  he  used  to  come  over  and  read  it  to  us,  with 
a  great  deal  of  pleasure.     Come,  let  me  help  you  to  take  your  chest 
over  to  our  house.     My  wife  will  t>e  rejoiced  to  see  you."     Fritz 
accepted  the  offer ;  and,  as  they  were  entering  the  door,  "  Nabby," 
cried  the  old  man,  "come  down;  here  is  Fritz  Hazell,  just  come 
from  sea!"  —  "You  don't  say  so!"  replied  a  quick,  business-like 
voice  from  above ;  and,  almost  immediately  after,  a  round  button  of 
a  body  came  dumpling  into  the  room  ;  and,  seizing  the  young  sailor 
by  the  hand,  "Why,  Fritz  Hazell!"  said  she;  "why   how  you 
have  altered  !  — You  have  lost  your  good  old  friend.     Ah,  Fritz! 
there  have  been  strange  doings  in  the  valley,  since  you  went  away.'* 
— '  When  did  Captain  Hazell  die,  and  of  what  distemper?"  in 
quired  Fritz.  —  "A  little  less  than  two  months  ago,"  said  Mrs. 
Foster.     "  He  died  of  lung  fever.     You  know  how  much  he  always 
disliked  Sukey  McFlaggon,  his  niece  ;  who,  certainly,  besides  marry 
ing  McFlag-gon,  dia  all  in  her  power  to  displease  the  old  gentleman  : 
well,  only  think  of  it,  she  is  heir  of  all  his  property.     Thov  sav  ht 


14'  FRITZ   HAZELL. 

has  left  a  very  pretty  estate  here,  beside  money  in  Holland.  Law 
yer  Grippit  says  it  is  no  such  thing,  and  that  the  old  man  left  very 
little.  But  you  know,  I  dare  say  how  was  it'"  —  Fritz  replied, 
that  he  knew  nothing  of  the  amount,  but  that  he  had  heard  the 
captain  had  money  at  interest,  with  Van  Scrompfen,  Brothers, 
and  Company,  of  Amsterdam. — "Lawyer  Grippit  and  Sukcy 
McFlaggon,"  said  the  shoe-maker's  wife,  "  are  going  to  be  married." 

—  "McFlaggon  is  dead,  then?"  said  Hazell.  —  "Oh  yes,"  said 
old  Enoch,  "  I  wonder  you  didn't  hear  of  it.     He  has  been  dead 
these  three  years.     He  became  a  sot;  and  Tim  Smith,  —  you  re 
member  Tim?  —  he  is  now  in  the  State's  Prison,  for  manslaughter  ; 

—  Tim  killed  him  in  a  row."  —  "  She  is  full  eleven  years  older  than 
Lawyer  Grippit,"  said  Mrs.  Foster,  "  and  everybody  sees,  that  he  's 
after  old  Captain  HazelFs  property.     Everybody  is  talking  about  it, 
and  strange  stories  are  told.     There  is  old  Mrs.  Spook,  the  deacon's 
widow  :  she  says  she  is  sure,  that  her  husband  told  her,  one  evening, 
when  he  came  home  later  than  usual,  that  he  had  been  with  Captain 
Hazell,  who  had  been  executing  a  will ;  and  that  Squire  Grippit 
and   Dr.  Manna  witnessed  it  with  himself.     But  Lawyer  Grippit 
frightened  the  old  lady  shamefully,  and  threatened  to  get  the  Grand 
Jury  to  sit  upon  her."  —  "No,  no,  wife,"  said  her  husband,  "  U 
indict  her,  you  mean."  —  "  Well,  well,  so  it  was,"  rejoined  Mrs 
Foster;  "  besides,  the  old  lady  was  none  of  the  wisest.     However 
the  deacon  is  dead,  and  Doctor  Manna  is  dead  ;  and  if  there  's  an\ 
secret  about  it,  it 's  all  locked  up,  in  the  squire's  bosom  ;  but  \  wiu 
all  be  known  in  the  great  day."  —  "  It's  a  strange  business,"  said 
the  old  shoe-maker,  "  and  it 's  very  hard  to  get  at  the  truth.     I  hear 
a  great  many  rumors,  for  the  matter  is  talked  over  by  everybody  ; 
and  I  take  care  to  say  as  little  about  it  as  possible."  —  Fritz  listened 
attentively  to  the  remarks  of  old  Enoch  and  his  wife,  and  in  perfec 
silence,  till  he  found  himself  alone  with  the  husband.     He  then  saic 
to  him,  "  Mr.  Foster,  I  have  always  had  a  respect  for  you,  and  1 
am  sure  you  are  a  prudent  man.     I  will  therefore  state  to  you,  in 
confidence,  what  I  know  of  this  matter,  myself;  and  I  shall  proba 
bly  have  to  ask  your  counsel  and  assistance.     When  Captain  Hazell 
was  dangerously  sick,  in  the  summer  of  18 — ,  about  seven  years 
ago,  1  know  he  executed  a  will,  or  rather  two  copies.     Mr.  Grippit 
told  him  one  was  enough  ;  but  he  would  have  it  his  own  way ;  and 
Baid  to  the  lawyer,  that  one  might  be  lost  or  mislaid.     It  was  in  the 
evening  ;  I  was  in  bed,  in  the  same  room  ;  and,  I  suppose,  they 
thought  I  was  asleep.     I  heard  the  lawyer,  Squire  Grippit,  ask  the 
captain  if  he  declared  that  paper  to  be  his  last  will,  and  he  said  he 
did.     I  saw  him  sign  it.     I  never  knew  the  contents  of  it ;  but  I  saw 


FRITZ   HAZELL.  141 

the  old  deacon,  Doctor  Manna,  and  the  squire,  write  their  names,  as 
witnesses,  to  both  papers.  One  the  captain  desired  Mr.  Grippit  to 
keep  ;  and  what  he  did  with  the  other  I  never  knew,  till  the  even 
ing  before  I  sailed.  That  evening  the  captain  said  to  me,  that  he 
had  made  his  will,  and  put  it  away  in  a  place,  which  he  would  show 
me,  that  it  might  be  found,  at  his  death.  Of  course,  I  cannot  say, 
that  it  is  there  now ;  but,  if  I  could  gain  admittance  to  the  house,  1 
could  go  directly  to  the  spot."  —  "  The  key  is  left  with  me."  said 
Mr.  Foster,  "  for  the  convenience  of  showing  the  house.  What  an 
awful  sinner  Lawyer  Grippit  must  he  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  untied 
his  apron  and  put  on  his  coat  and  hat.  —  "  We  shall  want  a  light," 
said  Fritz  Hazell.  —  They  proceeded  to  the  old  cottage.  As  they 
entered,  Fritz  paused,  to  take  a  glance  at  the  little  room.  The  old 
Dutch  clock  stood  in  the  corner ;  it  had  run  down,  like  its  venerable 
master,  and  was  now  motionless  and  still.  —  Enoch  Foster  locked 
the  door  on  the  inside,  and  they  descended  to  the  cellar  ;  and, 
removing  about  ten  inches  of  earth  from  the  northerly  corner,  tney 
struck  upon  a  hard  substance;  —  "Here  is-  the  iron  chest,"  said 
Fritz.  After  considerable  difficulty,  he  found  the  spring.  Upon 
lifting  the  lid,  they  beheld  a  mass  of  gold  and  silver  coin,  which 
would  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  Christopher  Grippit  and  Sukey 
McFlaggon.  Fritz  took  up  a  sealed  package,  and  held  it  to  the 
light.  Old  Enoch  read  over  his  shoulder;  " The  last  will  and  testa 
ment  of  Peter  Hazell."  —  "  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,"  exclaimed 
the  old  man  ;  "  what  a  sinful  world  we  live  in  !"  —  They  now  held 
a  short  conversation.  It  was  resolved  to  shut  down  the  chest  and 
replace  the  earth ;  and  then,  without  any  delay,  to  post  off  to  the 
Judge  of  Probate,  present  the  sealed  package,  and  relate  their  per 
fectly  intelligible  story. 

It  is  high  time  to  bring  the  history  of  Fritz  Hazell  to  a  close.  — 
The  hymeneal  hopes  of  Sukey  McFlaggon,  and  her  day  dreams  of 
riches,  were  grievously  disappointed.  The  judge,  having  opened 
the  will,  and  perceiving  the  well-known  signature  of  Lawyer  Grip- 
pit,  as  a  subscribing  witness,  was  greatly  shocked  and  surprised.  He 
could  account  for  Mr.  Grippit's  constant  averment,  that  he  had  never 
heard,  that  old  Hazell  had  ever  made  his  will,  only  upon  a  presump 
tion  of  a  deep-laid  scheme  of  fraud.  Such  was  the  fact.  Grippit 
knew  that  he  was  the  only  surviving  witness ;  one  copy  of  the 
will  had  been  in  his  possession,  which  he  destroyed  ;  the  widow 
McFlaggon  was  sole  heir  at  law  ;  and  as  the  other  copy  was  not 
forthcoming,  after  waiting  a  month,  he  presumed  it  to  be  lost,  or 
among  the  papers  of  the  deceased.  He  then  boldly  proposed  to  Mrs. 
McFlaggon  to  claim  administration  of  old  Hazell 's  estate,  and  to 


142  FRITZ  HAZELL. 

become  the  lady  of  Christopher  Grippit.  Thus,  as  her  attorney,  he 
had  free  access  to  the  papers  of  the  defunct ;  and,  not  finding  the 
c\her  copy,  after  diligent  search,  he  flattered  himself,  that  it  was 
.3jst  or  destroyed. 

The  report,  that  old  Peter  Hazell's  will  was  found,  and  that  Fritz 
had  come  home  from  sea,  flew  with  the  speed  of  the  wind,  from  one 
end  of  Still- Valley  to  the  other.  Grippit  was  summoned,  as  a  sub 
scribing  witness,  to  prove  the  will :  but  he  had  passed  beyond  the 
reach  of  an  earthly  subpoena.  The  crime,  which  he  had  committed, 
no  man  better  understood,  in  its  effects  upon  the  perpetrator,  and  he 
resc.rted  to  suicide  to  avoid  them. 

After  some  trifling  legacies,  and  fifty  pounds  to  Sukey  McFlag- 
gon,  Captain  Hazell  left  his  whole  estate  "  to  Patrick  McFilligan, 
commonly  called  Fritz  Hazell." 

Fritz  was  now  about  eighteen  years  of  age.  He  was  convinced  that 
he  was  not  sufficiently  robust  to  endure  the  fatigues  of  a  seafaring  life. 
The  means  of  gratifying  his  love  of  study  were  now  entirely  at  his 
command.  He  prepared  for  college,  and  entered  at  the  age  of 
twenty.  We  have  seen  already,  that  the  inclinations  and  the  whole 
temperament  of  this  young  man  were  grave  and  reflective.  He  took 
orders,  when  he  was  nearly  six  and  twenty ;  and,  at  the  present 
time,  supplies  to  serious  Christians,  a  stronger  aliment,  than  the 
congregation  of  Parson  Syllabub  could  have  digested,  some  twelve 
years  ago. 

About  a  year  since,  he  had  a  visit  from  his  old  friend  Captain 
Rodney;  and  as  they  walked  home  together  from  church,  "I  told 
you  long  ago,"  said  Rodney,  "  though  you  were  an  excellent  sea 
man,  that  you  would  make  a  better  minister,  and  I  find  my  words 
have  proved  true."  In  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  he  complied  with 
the  request  of  Captain  Rodney,  and  preached  an  old  sermon,  written 
with  a  particular  reference  to  some  of  those  incidents  which  gave 
so  great  an  interest  to  their  voyage  in  the  Antwerp  ;  and  it  was  with 
a  feeling  of  deep  sensibility,  that  these  old  friends  turned  their  eyes 
upon  each  other,  when  Parson  Hazell  pronounced  the  memorable 
text,  "  CAST  THY  BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS,  FOR  THOU  SHALT  FOJO 

T  AfTER  MANY  DAYS." 


WHAT  A  CUESE! 

OR, 

JOHNNY  HODGES,    THE  BLACKSMITH. 


P»n  nothing  be  done  to  put  an  end  to  the  eTili  of  intemperance  ?  Such,  it  th»  present  day.  a  a 
very  common  interrogatory  ;  not  from  those  alone,  at  the  heart  of  whose  loijestic  happiness  thit 
canker-worm  is  already  ai  work  ;  not  from  those  alone,  who  have  live  I  in  unpardonable  ignorance 
of  all,  that  has  been  so  happily  accomplished  ;  but  from  the  most  enlightened  friends  of  temperance, 
who  keep  the  run  anil  the  record  of  its  way  ;  who  study  this  deeply-imeresting  subject,  as  they  study 
a  science  ;  anil  who,  at  the  same  time,  are  not  so  blindly  in  love  with  a  favorite  scheme  nf  rciisiiin 
mation,  as  to  forget  that  no  remedy  fur  moral  evil  can  be  effectual,  which  is  calculated  to  produce  a 
greater  mischief  in  one  direction,  than  i'.  pmposes  to  remove  in  another. 

Can  nothing  tie  done,  say  they,  to  renr.ve  these  evils  of  intemperance  ?  — Have  those  e-srht  thou 
sand  societies,  which  are  s.'ud  to  exist  in  the  United  Stales,  done  nothing?  Undoubtedly  they  have 
exerted  a  benign  and  blessed  influence,  upon  the  heart*  of  mury  thousand*.  who  huve  been  per 
suaded  to  subscribe  the  pledge  ;  —  >till  further,  they  have  operated  most  happily  upon  many  mure,  who, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  have  withheld  their  hands  from  the  pie  Ise,  but  who  Imve  become  respec 
table  temperance  men,  in  word  and  in  deed.  —  And  has  not  something  been  done  >  —  A*  thing  form* 
and  for  mine,  says  the  poor  widow.  I  have  but  one  son  ;  h-  will  n<ii  subs'-rihe  the  pledge  ;  and  he 
tuilt  drink  anlent  spirit  ,  aid  the  rum-seller  will  sell  u  ,  and  he  s  tys  it  is  lawful,  and  that  therefore 
it  is  right.  My  son  is  a  d.unkard.  I  brought  him  into  life  ;  I  nursed  Inn,  mid  reared  him  with  care  ; 
I  have  \\atchedover  tun,  ,n  sickness;  I  h.tve  pinched  anil  spaied,  that  be  might  be  better  clothed 
and  belter  ted  than  mvself;  and  I  am  now  the  heart-broken  mother  ol  ,i  thanklees  child.  Societies 
iave  undoubtedly  been  useful  to  the  world  ;  but  they  have  dune  nothing  for  me.  Cannot  something 
oe  d'tne  to  save  the  last  hope  of  a  poor  widow  ? 

A«d  has  noihinsf  been  dune,  by  that  multiplying  engine,  which,  for  years,  has  been  employed  in 
•catierin?,  over  the  surface  of  the  ei  nl.,  journals  and  magazines,  tracts  and  tales  ;  and  iirig<iting 
the  moral  world,  as  it  were,  with  refreshing  and  invigorxtuig  showers?  —  It  mny  be  so,  says  the  mis 
erable,  broken  spirited  wife  ;  but  I  am  sure  it  has  dune  nothing  for  me.  1  am  a  drunkard's  wile  ;  such, 
for  years  of  bitterness,  I  have  lived  ;  such,  I  doubt  noi,  I  shall  die.  I  rave  to  a  faithless  promiser  a 
devoted  In-  iri,  and  my  humble  store  of  worldly  soods ;  he  has  broken  the  one  and  wasted  the  other. 
The  press  may  send  forth  its  legion  of  messengers ;  but  he  will  not  read  one  ol  them  all  ;  and,  sh  uld 
be  rind  one  in  my  hands,  he  would  hurl  il  inlo  the  tire,  as  he  hasdone  before.  My  children  are  be?- 
STars  ;  my  spirit  is  <rone  ;  and,  as  I  rock  my  child  in  its  cradle,  by  the  lading  embers  of  a  midnight 
fir'.,  u  ailing  for  the  return  of  a  drunken  tyrant,  I  say  within  my  wretched  heart,  in  the  language  of 
Job,  I  would  not  live  always  !  Cannot  something  be  done  to  stay  this  desolating  plague  ? 

>nd  has  not  something  been  do ->e  by  thousands  of  lectures  and  addresses,  gratuitously  delivered, 
»:id.  of  course,  open  to  ail? —  Beyond  all  doubt,  says  the  agonized  father;  but  they  have  no  power 
over  my  domestic  affliction.  My  son  is  a  dru.ikard.  He  will  not  go  ami  listen  to  such  things.  I 
fear  not  In  n  J-  will  be  it  >•  e.  We  may  lecture,  and  write,  and  associate  ;  but  nothing  will  be  do  e  to 
reach  a  case  of  misery  like  mine.  I  had  once  some  hope,  that  the  legislature  would  aftbrd  rel  e  .  But. 
what  is  a  legislator*  1  I  have  taken  some  pains  to  analyze  the  mass,  and  examine  its  elements. 
We  are  a  government  of  the  people.  If  a  majority  of  the' people  are  for  Jn-rgenmut,  an  I  the  idol's 
temples  are  in  danger  'rom  Irsfislaiive  interference,  the  majority  ol  the  people  will  take  care,  that  a 
majoriy  of  the  legislature  shall  he  the  friends  and  w  irshippers  of  Juggernaut.  Can  a  rum-selling 
legislator  he  expe  -ted  to  legislate  against  rum  f  Conle.npUte  the  tavern-keepers,  retailers,  grocers, 
distillers,  and  importers  in  a  legislature  ;  add  to  this  list  thai  indifferent  and  movable  body,  so  easily 
won  over  to  either  side  ;  swell  the  catalogue,  by  the  addition  of  every  temperate  drinker  ;  and,  last 
of  all,  annex  the  names  uf  the  base  u-iknovin,  those  fourteen  shameless  men,  who  voted  for  a  notori 
ous  infidel,  as  the  chaplain  of  the  House  ol  Representatives,  in  this  ancient  Commonwealth  ;  look,  foi 
a  moment,  at  ibe  a-r^re^aie,  and  then  repeat  the  interrogatory  ;  —  Will  anything  be  done  to  put  an 
*nd  in  the  evil«  of  i n temperance  1  —  The  only  profitable  reply  to  this  inquiiy  must  come,  inGoi's  good, 
time,  from  a  legislative  majority  uf  cold-water  men. 


"  THE  doctor  is  a  kind  man,"  said  Johnny  Hodges,  addressing  a 
person  of  respectable  appearance,  who  was  in  the  act  of  returning 
to  his  pocket-book  a  physician's  bill,  which  the  blacksmith  did  not 
find  it  convenient  to  pay.  "  The  doctor  is  a  kind  man,  a  very  kind 
and  has  earned  his  money,  I  dare  say,  and  I  don't  begrudge 
a  shilling  of  it  all ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  have  not  the  means  of 


144  JOHNNY  HODGES,    THE  BLACKSMITH. 

paying  his  bill,  nor  any  part  of  it,  }jst  now.  "  — "  Well,  well," 
said  the  collector,  "  I  shall  be  this  wiy  before  long,  and  will  call  on 
you  again." 

Johnny  Hodges  thanked  hhn  for  the  indulgence,  and  proceeded 
with  his  work  :  but  the  hammer  swung  heavily  upon  the  anvil,  and 
many  a  Jong  sigh  escaped,  before  the  job  in  hand  was  fairly  turned 
off. 

Three  or  four  times  already,  the  collector  had  paid  a  visit  at  the 
blacksmith's  shop,  who  was  always  ready  to  admit  the  justice  of  the 
claim,  and  that  the  doctor  had  been  very  kind  and  attentive,  and  had 
well  earned  his  money ;  but  Johnny  was  always  behindhand  ;  and, 
though  full  of  professions  of  gratitude  to  the  good  doctor,  yet  the  doc 
tor's  bill  seemed  not  very  likely  to  be  paid.  Familiarity,  saith  the  pro 
verb,  breeds  contempt.  This  old  saw  is  not  apt  to  work  more  roughly, 
in  any  relation  of  life,  than  between  the  creditor,  or  the  creditor's 
agent,  and  the  non-performing  debtor.  The  pursuing  party  is  apt 
lo  become  importunate,  and  the  pursued  to  grow  gradually  callous 
and  indifferent.  Upon  the  present  occasion,  however,  the  collector, 
who  was  a  benevolent  man,  was  extremely  patient  and  forbearing. 
He  had  sufficient  penetration  to  perceive,  that  poor  Johnny,  for  some 
cause  or  other,  was  always  exceedingly  mortified  and  pained,  by 
these  repeated  applications.  It  did  not,  however,  escape  the  suspi 
cion  of  the  collector,  that  there  might  be  a  certain,  secret  cause,  for 
Johnny's  inability  to  pay  the  doctor's  bill.  Intemperance  is  exhib 
ited,  in  a  great  variety  of  modifications.  While  some  individuals 
are  speedily  roused  into  violent  and  disorderly  action,  or  hushed  to 
slumber,  and  reduced  to  the  condition  of  a  helpless  and  harmless 
mass ;  others,  provided  by  nature  with  heads  of  iron  and  leathern 
skins,  are  equally  intemperate,  yet  scarcely,  for  many  years,  present 
before  the  world  the  slightest  personal  indication  of  their  habitual 
indulgence. 

Johnny  Hodges  was  an  excellent  workman,  and  he  had  abun 
dance  of  work.  It  was  not  easy  to  account  for  such  an  appropriation 
of  his  earnings,  as  would  leave  him  not  enough  for  the  payment  of 
the  doctor's  bill ;  upon  any  other  supposition,  than  that  of  a  waste 
ful  and  sinful  employment  of  them,  for  the  purchase  of  strong  drink. 
Johnny's  countenance,  to  be  sure,  was  exceedingly  pale  and  sallow; 
but  the  pale-faced  tippler  is,  by  no  means,  an  uncommon  spectacle. 
On  the  other  hand,  Johnny  was  very  industrious,  constantly  in  his 
bhop  in  working  hours,  and  always  busily  employed. 

After  an  interval  of  several  weeks,  the  collector  called  again,  and 
put  the  customary  question,  "  Well,  Mr.  Hodges,  can  you  pay  the 
doctor's  bill?"  Perhaps  there  was  something  unusually  hurried  or 


JOHNNY  HODGES,    THE  BLACKSMITH.  140 

importunate,  or  Johnny  so  thought,  in  the  manner  of  making 
the  inquiry.  Johnny  was  engaged  in  turning  a  shoe,  and  he 
hammered  it  entirely  out  of  shape.  He  laid  down  his  hammer 
and  tongs,  and,  for  a  few  seconds,  rested  his  cheek  upon  his  hand. 

—  "I  don't  know  how  I  can  pay  the  doctor's  bill,"  said  Johnny 
Hodges.     "I've  nothing  here  in  the  shop,  but  my  tools  and  a 
very  little  stock ;  and  I  've  nothing  at  home,  but  the  remainder  of 
our  scanty  furniture.     I  know  the  doctor's  bill  ought  to  be  paid,  and 
if  he  will  take  it,  he  shall  be  welcome  to  our  cow,  though  I  have 
five  little  children  who  live  upon  the  milk."  —  "  No,  no,  Hodges  *' 
said  the  collector,  "  you  are  much  mistaken,  if  you  suppose  the  dot 
tor,  who  is  a  Christian  and  a  kind-hearted  man,  would  take  your 
cow  or  oppress  you  at  all,  for  the  amount  of  his  bill.     But  how  is  it 
that  you,  who  have  always  so  much  work,  have  never  any  money?" 

—  "  Ah,  sir,"  said  Johnny  Hodges,  while  he  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  iJs  face,  for  he  was  a  hard-working  man  ;  "Ah,  sir,"  said  he, 
"  whc.t  a  curse  it  is !  —  can  nothing  be  done  to  put  a  stop  to  this 
intemperance?     I  hear  a  great  deal  of  the  efforts,  that  are  making; 
but  still  the  rum  business  goes  on.     If  it  were  not  for  the  tempta 
tions  to  take  strong  drink,  I  should  do  well  enough  ;  and  the  good 
doctor  should  not  have  sent  twice  for   the   amount  of  his  bill 
Very  few  of  those,  who  write  and  talk  so  much  of  intemperance, 
know  anything  of  our  trials  and  troubles."  —  "I  confess,"  said  the 
collector,  "  that  I  have  had  my  suspicions  and  fears  before.  — Why 
do  you  not  resolve,  that  you  will  never  touch  another  drop?     Go, 
Hodges,  like  a  man,  and  put  your  name  to  the  pledge ;  and  pray 
God  to  enable  you  to  keep  it  faithfully."  —  "  Why,  as  to  that,  sir," 
said  the  blacksmith,  "  the  pledge  will  do  me  no  good ;  the  difficulty 
doesn't  lie  there.  —  What  a  curse! — Is  there  no  prospect  of 
putting  an  end  to  intemperance?"  — "  To  be  sure  there  is,"  replied 
the  collector.     "If  people  will  sign  the  pledge,  and  keep  it  too, 
there  is  no  difficulty."  —  "But,  suppose  they  will  not  sign  the 
pledge,"  rejoined  Johnny  Hodges,  "  still,  if  rum  were  not  so  com 
mon  as  it  is,  and  so  easily  obtained,  the  temptation  would  be  taken 
away."  —  "  That  is  all  very  true,  but  it  is  every  man's  duty  to  do 
something  for  himself,"  replied  the  collector.     "I  advise  you  to 
sign  the  pledge,  as  soon  as  possible."  —  "  Why,  sir,"  said  the  black 
smith,  "  the  difficulty  doesn't  lie  there,  as  I  told  you ;  I  signed  the 
pledge  long  ago,  and  I  have  kept  it  well.     I  never  was  given  to 
taking  spirit  in  my  life.     My  labor  at  the  forge  is  pretty  hard  work, 
yet  I  take  nothing  stronger,  for  drink,  than  cold  water."  —  "  I  am 
aoriy,  that  I  misunderstood  you,"  replied  the  collector.     "  But, 
since  you  do  not  take  spirit,  and  your  children,  as  you  have  ted  me 

VOL.  I.  15 


146          JOHNNY  HODGES,  THE  BLACKSMITH. 

to  suppose,  are  of  tender  years  ;  why  are  you  so  anxious  for  th« 
suppression  of  intemperance?"  —  "Because,'  said  poor  Johnny 
Hodges,  after  a  pause,- and  with  evident  emotion,  "to  tell  you  the 
plain  truth,  it  has  made  my  home  a  hell,  my  wife  a  drunkard,  and 
my  children  beggars  !  Poor  things,"  said  he,  as  he  brushed  away 
the  tears,  "  they  have  no  mother  any  more.  The  old  cow,  that  1 
offered  you,  just  now,  for  the  doctor's  debt,  —  and  I  believe  it  would 
have  broken  their  hearts  to  have  parted  with  old  Brindle,  —  is  mere 
of  a  mother  to  them  now,  than  the  woman  who  brought  them  into 
this  world  of  trouble.  I  have  little  to  feed  old  Brindle  with  ;  and 
the  children  are  running  here  and  there,  for  a  little  swill  and  such 
matters,  to  keep  her  alive.  Even  the  smallest  of  these  poor  things 
will  pick  up  a  bunch  of  hay  or  a  few  scattered  corn-stalks,  and  fetch 
it  to  her,  and  look  on  with  delight,  to  see  her  enjoy  it.  I  have 
seen  them  all  together,  when  their  natural  mother,  in  a  drunken 
spree,  has  driven  them  out  of  doors,  flying  for  refuge  to  the  old 
cow,  and  lying  beside  her  in  the  shed.  —  What  a  curse  it  is ! 

"  What  will  become  of  them  and  of  me,"  continued  this  broken 
hearted  man,  "  I  cannot  tell.  I  sometimes  fear,  that  I  shall  lose 
my  reason,  and  be  placed  in  the  mad-house.  Such  is  the  thirst  of 
this  wretched  woman  for  rum,  that  she  has  repeatedly  taken  my 
tools,  and  carried  them  five  or  six  miles,  and  pawned  or  sold  them 
for  liquor.  The  day  before  yesterday,  I  carried  home  a  joint  of 
meat,  for  dinner.  When  I  went  home,  tired  and  hungry,  at  the. 
dinner  hour,  I  found  her  drunk  and  asleep  upon  the  floor.  She  had 
sold  the  joint  of  meat,  and  spent  the  money  in  rum.  It 's  grievouss 
to  tell  such  matters  to  a  stranger,  but  I  can't  bear  that  you  or  the 
good  doctor  should  think  me  ungrateful  any  longer.  I  never  shall 
forget  the  doctor's  kindness  to  me,  two  years  ago,  when  I  had  my 
dreadful  fever ;  and,  if  ever  I  can  get  so  much  money  together,  he 
shall  certainly  be  paid.  That  fever  was  brought  on,  partly  by  hard 
work,  but  the  main  spring  of  the  matter  was  in  the  mind.  My  wife 
was  then  getting  very  bad,  and  when  she  was  in  liquor,  her  language 
was  both  indecent  and  profane;  though,  when  we  were  married, 
there  was  n't  a  more  modest  girl  in  the  parish.  Just  before  my 
fever  came  on,  in  one  of  her  fits  of  intemperance,  she  strolled  away, 
and  was  gone  three  days  and  three  nights ;  and,  to  this  hour,  I  have 
never  known  where  she  was,  all  that  time  It  almost  broke  my 
hsart.  The  doctor  always  said  there  was  something  upon  my 
mind ;  but  I  never  told  him,  nor  any  one  else,  the  cause  of  my 
trouble  till  now.  What  a  curse !  —  Don't  you  think,  sir,  that  some 
thing  can  be  done  to  put  an  end  to  this  terrible  curse  of  intemper- 
— "  Your  oaee  is  a  very  kaxd  one,"  said  the  collector*  aftoj 


JOHNNY  HODGES,  THE  BT<ACKSM1TH.  147 

a,  solemn  pause,  "  and  T  wish  I  could  point  out  a  remedy.  You 
need  give  yourself  no  uneasiness  about  the  doctor's  bill,  foi  1  am 
euro  he  will  think  no  more  of  it,  when  I  have  told  him  your  story, 
[f  I  would  not  give  you  too  much  pain,  and  take  up  too  much  of 
your  time,  I  should  like  to  be  informed,  a  little  more  particularly, 
of  the  commencement  and  progress  of  this  habit  in  your  wife,  which 
seems  to  have  destroyed  your  domestic  happiness."  —  Johnny 
Hodges  wiped  his  brow,  and  sat  down  upon  a  bench  in  his  shop, 
and  the  collector  took  a  seat  by  his  side. 

v  Eight  years  ago,"  said  Johnny  Hodges,  "  come  the  first  day  of 
nejr'  month,  I  was  married.  Polly  Wilson,  that  was  her  maiden 
name,  was  twenty-three,  and  I  was  four  years  older.  I  certainly 
thought  it  the  best  day's  work  I  ever  did,  and  I  continued  of  that 
mind,  for  about  five  years.  Since  then  Heaven  knows  I  have  had 
reason  to  think  otherwise ;  for,  ever  since,  trouble  has  been  about 
my  path,  and  about  my  bed.  About  three  years  ago,  my  wife 
took  to  drink.  I  cannot  tell  how  it  happened  ;  but  she  always  said, 
herself,  that  the  first  drop  of  gin  she  ever  drank,  was  upon  a  wash 
ing  day,  when  an  old  Scotch  woman  persuaded  her,  that  it  would 
keep  the  cold  ofF  her  stomach.  From  that  time,  the  habit  grew 
upon  her  very  fast.  She  has  told  me  an  hundred  times,  in  her 
sober  moments,  that  she  would  give  the  world  to  leave  it  off",  but 
that  she  could  not,  for  the  life  of  her  So  strong  has  been  her  desire 
to  get  liquor,  that  nothing  was  sate  from  her  grasp.  She  has 
sold  her  children's  Sabbath  clothes,  and  my  own,  for  rum.  After  1 
had  gotten  well  of  my  fever,  I  worked  hard  ;  and,  at  one  time,  had 
laid  by  nearly  enough,  as  I  supposed,  to  pay  the  doctor's  bill.  One 
day,  I  had  received  a  dollar  for  work,  and  went  to  my  drawer,  to 
add  it  to  the  rest;  and  —  all  was  gone!  The  drawer  had  beer, 
forced  open.  She  knew  that  1  had  been  saving  the  money  to  pay  the 
doctor,  and  the  apothecary,  for  their  services,  during  my  fever ;  she 
knew  that  my  sickness  had  been  produced  by  sleepless  nights  and 
a  broken  heart,  on  her  account ;  yet  she  could  not  resist  the  temp 
tati'jn.  She  affirmed,  in  the  most  solemn  manner,  thai  she  knew 
nothing  ubout  it;  but  two  of  the  little  children,  in  answer  to  my 
inquiry,  told  me,  that  they  had  seen  mammy  break  open  the  drawer, 
and  take  out  the  money ;  and  that  she  went  directly  over  to  the 
grocery,  and  in  about  half  an  hour,  after  she  returned,  went  to 
sloep  so  soundly  in  her  chair,  that  they  could  not  wake  her  up,  to 
get  them  a  little  supper.  At  that  time,  I  went  to  Mr.  Calvin 
Leech,  the  grocer,  and  told  him,  that  I  wondered,  as  he  was  a 
church  member,  how  he  could  have  the  heart  to  ruin  the  peace  of 
my  family.  He  was  very  harsh,  and  told  me,  that  every  man  must 
take  caie  of  his  own  wife,  and  that  it  was  not  his  business  to  look 


J48  JOHNNY  HOEGLS,  THE  BLACKSM  [TH. 

after  mine.  I  began  to  think,  with  Job,  that  I  would  not  live 
always.  Strange  fancies  came  into  my  head  about  that  time,  and  I 
tried  hard  to  think  of  some  escape  from  such  a  world  of  sin  and 
sorrow ;  but  a  kind  and  merciful  God  would  Lot  let  me  take  my 
own  wild  way.  I  read  my  Bible;  and  the  poor  children  kept  all 
the  while  in  my  way,  smiling  sweetly  in  my  face,  and  driving  all 
evil  thoughts  from  my  mind.  My  oldest  boy  was  then  about  seven. 
"  Don't  take  on  so,  daddy,"  the  little  fellow  used  to  say,  when  he 
fo. ind  me  shedding  tears,  "  don't  cry,  daddy  ;  I  shall  be  big  enough 
to  blow  the  bellows  next  year."  I  have  tried  to  keep  up,  for  the 
*ake  of  these  poor  children ;  and  few  would  be  better,  for  their 
years,  if  their  mother  did  not  teach  some  of  them  to  curse  and 
swear.  They  have  the  same  bright  look  and  gentle  temper  that  my 
wife  had,  when  we  were  married.  There  never  was  a  milder  tem 
per  than  Polly's,  before  this  curse  fell  upon  the  poor  creature.  Oh, 
sir,  it  is  nothing  but  rum,  that  has  ruined  our  hopes  of  happiness  in 
this  world.  How  strange  it  is,  that  nothing  can  be  done  to  stay 
such  a  dreadful  plague!" 

The  collector  shook  the  poor  blacksmith  by  the  hand,  and  bade 
him  keep  up  his  spirits,  as  well  as  he  could,  and  put  his  trust  in 
God's  providence.  Promising  to  make  him  a  friendly  call,  in  tlio 
course  of  a  few  days,  he  took  his  leave. 

This  interview,  with  the  blacksmith,  had  caused  his  visitor  to 
contemplate  the  subject  of  the  temperance  reform,  somewhat  in 
a  novel  point  of  viow.  The  importunate  and  frequently  repeated 
interrogatory  of  Johnny  Hodges,  "Cannot  something  be  DONE  to 
put  an  end  to  the  evils  of  intemperance?"  to  most  individuals,  would 
appear  to  savor  of  gross  ignorance,  in  the  inquirer,  as  to  those  ? maz 
ing  efforts,  which  have  already  been  made,  at  home  and  abroad. 
But  it  must  not  be  forgotten,  that  poor  Hodges  was  no  theori*er  in 
that  department  of  domestic  wretchedness,  which  arises  from  intem 
perance.  He  was  well  aware,  that  a  prodigious  effort  had  been 
made,  for  the  purilication  of  the  world,  by  voluntary  associations, 
adopting  the  pledsje  of  total  abstinence.  He  perfectly  understood, 
that  all  those,  who  had  subscribed  such  a  pledge,  and  faithfully 
adhered  to  it,  were  safe  from  the  effects  of  intemperance,  in  their 
own  persons.  Yet  this  poor  fellow  cried  aloud,  out  of  the  very 
dt  pths  of  his  real  misery,  "  Cannot  something  be  DONE  to  put  an  end 
to  the  evils  of  intemperance?  "  His  own  bitter  experience  had  taught 
him,  that  there  was  one  person  who  could  never  be  prevailed  upon 
to  sign  the  pledge ;  one,  upon  whose  faithful  execution  of  her  do 
mestic  duties,  his  whole  earthly  happiness  depended ;  the  partner 
of.  his  bosom ;  the  mother  of  his  children ;  and  she  had  become  a 
loathsome  ihd  ungbVernabie  drunkard.  He  ratidnally  infent/ti. 


JOHNNY  HODGES,  THE  BLACKSMITH.  149 

indeed  he  well  knew  the  fact,  from  his  own  observation  upon  the 
surrounding  neighborhood,  that  such  an  occurrence  was  not  of  an 
uncommon  character.  Intemperate  husbands,  intemperate  wives, 
and  intemperate  children  were  all  around  him.  Johnny  Hodges  waa 
a  man  of  good  common  sense.  He  reasoned  forward  to  the  future 
from  the  past.  He  entertained  no  doubt,  that,  notwithstanding  the 
most  energetic,  voluntary  efforts  of  all  the  societies  upon  the  face  of 
the  earth,  drunkenness  would  certainly  continue,  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  so  long  as  the  means  of  drunkenness  were  suffered  to  remain. 
The  process  of  reasoning  in  Johnny's  mind  may  be  very  easily 
described.  So  long,  thought  he,  as  rum-selling  continues  to  be 
sanctioned  by  law,  and  grog-shops  are  legalized,  at  every  corner ; 
so  'ong  as  even  deacons  and  church  members  distil  rum,  and  sell  it> 
reducing  the  temperate  drinker's  noble  to  the  drunkard's  nine-pence, 
and  that  nine-pence  to  nothing  and  a  jail  ;  winning  away  the  bread 
from  the  miserable  tippler's  children  ;  and  causing  the  husband  and 
wife  to  hate  and  abhor  the  very  presence  of  each  other ;  so  long  a 
very  considerable  number  of  persons,  who  will  not  sign  the  pledge, 
will  be  annually  converted  from  temperate  men  and  women,  into 
drunken  vagabonds  and  paupers.  The  question  is  therefore  reduced 
to  this  ;  Can  no  effectual  measures  be  provided  by  law,  to  prevent 
a  cold,  calculating,  mercenary  body  of  men  from  trafficking  any 
longer,  in  broken  hopes,  broken  hearts,  and  broken  constitutions  ; 
and  to  restrain,  at  least,  deacons  and  church  members,  who  pray  to 
the  Lord  to  lead  them  not  into  temptation,  from  laying  snares,  along 
the  highways  and  hedges  of  the  land,  to  entrap  the  feet  of  their 
fellow-creatures,  and  tempt  their  weaker  brethren  to  their  ruin  ? 

A  month  or  more  had  passed  away,  before  the  collector's  business 
brought  him  again  into  the  neighborhood  of  the  blacksmith's  shop. 
Johnny  Hodges  was  at  work  as  usual.  He  appeared  dejected  and 
care-worn.  His  visitor  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  told  him,  that 
the  doctor  said  he  should  consider  him,  as  old  Boerhaave  used  to  say, 
one  of  his  best  patients,  for  God  would  be  his  paymaster.  "  Never 
think  of  the  debt  any  more,  Johnny,"  said  the  collector.  "  The 
doctor  has  sent  you  his  bill,  receipted  ;  and  he  bade  me  tell  you,  that 
if  a  little  money  would  help  you  in  your  trouble,  you  should  be 
heartily  welcome  to  it."*  "Indeed,"  said  the  blacksmith,  "the 

*I  have  learned,  since  the  preparation  of  this  tale,  from  the  collector  him 
self,  that  Hodges  expressed  the  liveliest  gratitude,  lor  the  doctor's  kindness, 
in  relinquishing  his  claim  for  professional  services  ;  but  that  he  persisted  in 
refusing  to  receive  a  five-dollar  note,  which  accompanied  the  receipted  hill; 
—  "God  will  reward  the  doctor  for  all  his  kindness,"  said  the  poor  fellow 
"but  I  cannot  take  the  money." 

TOL.   I.  13» 


150  JOHNNY  HODGES,  THE  BLACKSMITH. 

doctor  is  a  kind  friend  ;  but  I  suppose  nothing  can  be  done  to  put 
in  end  to  this  curse?"  —  *'  I  fear  there  will  not  be,  at  present,"  said 
;he  collector :  "  rum  is  the  idol  of  the  people.  The  friends  of  tem 
perance  have  petitioned  the  legislature  to  pull  this  old  idol  down, 
tfow  there  are,  in  that  very  body,  a  great  many  members,  who  love 
me  idol  dearly  ;  there  are  many,  who  are  sent  thither  expressly  to 
keep  the  idol  up.  So  you  see,  that  petitioning  the  legislature,  such 
as  it  now  is,  to  abolish  the  traffic  in  rum,  is  like  petitioning  the 
priests  of  Baal  to  pull  down  their  false  god.  But  you  look  pale  and 
sad  :  has  any  new  trouble  come  upon  you,  or  do  you  find  the  old  one 
more  grievous  to  bear?"  —  "  Ah,  sir,"  said  this  man  of  many  woes, 
"  we  have  had  trouble  enough,  new  and  old,  since  you  were  here 
last.  Intemperance  must  be  a  selfish  vice,  I  am  sure.  About  a 
fortnight  ago,  my  wife  contrived,  while  I  was  gone  to  the  city  to 
procure  a  few  bars  of  iron,  to  sell  our  old  cow  to  a  drover ;  and  this 
woman,  once  so  kind-hearted  and  thoughtful  of  her  children,  would 
see  them  starve,  rather  than  deprive  herself  of  the  means  of  intoxi 
cation.  She  has  been  in  liquor  every  day  since.  But  all  this  is 
nothing  compared  with  our  other  late  trial.  Last  Monday  night,  I 
was  obliged  to  be  from  home,  till  a  very  late  hour.  I  had  a  promise 
from  a  neighbor  to  sit  up  at  my  house,  till  my  return,  to  look  after 
the  children,  and  prevent  the  house  from  being  set  on  fire.  But  the 
promise  was  forgotten.-  When  I  returned,  about  eleven  o'clock,  all 
was  quiet.  I  struck  a  light,  and,  finding  my  wife  was  in  bed,  and 
sound  asleep,  I  looked  round  for  the  children.  The  four  older  chil 
dren  I  readily  found,  but  little  Peter,  our  infant,  about  thirteen 
months  old,  I  could  find  nowhere.  After  a  careful  search,  I  shook 
rny  wife  by  the  shoulder,  to  wake  her  up,  that  I  might  learn,  if 
possible,  what  had  become  of  the  child.  After  some  time,  though 
evidently  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  I  awakened  this  wretched 
woman,  &nd  made  her  understand  me.  She  then  made  a  sign,  that 
it  was  in  the  bed.  I  proceeded  to  examine,  and  found  the  poor 
suffering  babe  beneath  her.  She  had  pressed  the  life  out  of  its  little 
body.  —  It  was  quite  dead.  —  It  was  but  yesterday,  that  I  put  it 
into  the  ground.  If  you  can  credit  it,  this  miserable  mother  was  so 
intoxicated,  that  she  could  not  follow  it  to  the  grave.  What  can  a 
poor  man  do,  with  such  a  burthen  as  this?  The  owner  of  the  little 
tenement,  in  which  1  have  lived,  has  given  me  notice  to  quit,  because 
he  says,  and  reasonably  enough  too,  that  the  chance  of  my  wife's 
Betting  it  on  fire  is  growing  greater  every  day.  However,  I  feel 
that  within  me,  that  promises  a  release  before  long,  from  all  this 
insufferable  misery.  But  what  will  become  of  my  poor  children  !" 
— Johnny  sat  down  upon  a  bench,  and  burst  into  '.ears.  His  visitor, 


JOHNNY  HODGES,  THE  BLACKSMITH.          15* 

as  we  have  said,  was  a  kind-hearted  man.  —  "  Suppose  I  should  gel 
some  discreet  person  to  talk  with  your  wife,"  said  he. — Johnny 
raised  his  eyes  and  his  hands,  at  the  same  moment.  "  Talk  with 
aer!"  he  replied,  "you  may  as  well  talk  with  a  whirlwind;  the 
abuse,  which  she  poured  on  me,  this  morning1,  for  proposing  to  bring 
our  good  minister  to  talk  with  her,  woald  have  made  your  hair  stand 
on  end.  Mo,  I  am  heart-broken,  and  undone,  for  this  world.  1 
have  no  hope,  save  in  a  better,  through  the  mercies  of  God."  — 
The  visitor  took  the  poor  man  by  the  hand,  and  silently  departed, 
lie  uttered  not  a  word  ;  he  was  satisfied  that  nothing  could  be  said 
to  abate  the  domestic  misery  of  poor  Johnny  Hodges  in  the  present 
world  ;  and  there  was  something  in  his  last  words,  and  in  the  tone 
in  which  they  were  uttered,  which  assured  the  visitor,  that  Johnny's 
unshaken  confidence  in  the  promises  of  God  would  not  be  disap 
pointed  in  another. 

How  entirely  inadequate  is  the  most  finished  delineation,  to  set 
forth,  in  true  relief,  the  actual  sum  total  of  such  misery  as  this ! 
How  little  conception  have  all  those  painted  male  and  female  butter 
flies  and  moths,  who  stream  along  our  public  walks  of  a  sunny 
morning,  or  flutter  away  their  lives  in  our  fashionable  saloons ;  — 
how  little  conception  have  they  of  the  real  pressure  of  such  practi 
cal  wretchedness  as  this !  To  the  interrogatory  of  poor  Johnny 
Hodges,  "  Can  nothing  be  DONE  to  put  an  end  to  the  evils  of  intem 
perance?"  what  answer,  here  and  hereafter,  do  those  individuals 
propose  to  offer,  who  not  only  withhold  their  names  from  the  tem 
perance  pledge,  but  who  light  up  their  castles ;  and  call  together 
the  giddy  and  the  gay  of  both  sexes  ;  and  devote  one  apartment  of 
their  palaces,  in  the  present  condition  of  public  sentiment,  chastened 
and  purified,  as  it  is,  to  th'e  whiskey  punch  bowl! 

The  summer  had  passed,  and  the  harvest  was  over.  About  four 
months  after  the  last  interview,  I  heard,  for  the  first  time,  the  story 
of  poor  Johnny  Hodges.  Taking  upon  my  tablets  a  particular  direc 
tion  to  his  house  and  shop,  I  put  on  my  surtout,  and  set  forth,  upon 
a  clear,  cold  November  morning,  to  pay  the  poor  fellow  a  visit.  It 
vis  not.  three  miles  from  the  city  to  his  dwelling.  By  the  special 
direction,  which  I  had  received,  I  readily  identified  the  shop.  The 
dnors  were  closed,  —  for  it  was  a  sharp,  frosty  morning.  I  wished 
to  see  the  poor  fellow  at  his  forge,  before  I  disclosed  the  object  of 
my  visit.  I  opened  the  door.  He  was  not  there.  The  bellows 
were  still.  — The  last  spark  had  gone  out  in  the  forge.  —  The  ham 
mer  and  tongs  were  thrown  together. — Johnny's  apron  was  lying 
carelessly  upon  the  bench.  —  And  the  iron,  upon  which  he  had  been 
working,  lay  cold  upon  the  anvil.  —  i  turned  towards  the  little 


162         JOHNNY  HODGES,  THE  BLACKSMITH. 

dwelling.  That  also  had  been  abandoned.  A  short  conversation 
with  an  elderly  man,  who  proved  to  be  a  neighbor,  soon  put  my 
doubts  and  uncertainties  at  rest.  The  conclusion  of  this  painful  little 
nistory  may  be  told,  in  a  very  few  words.  The  wife,  who,  it  ap 
pears,  notwithstanding  her  gross  intemperance,  retained  no  incon 
siderable  portion  of  personal  comeliness,  when  not  absolutely  drunk ; 
had  run  off,  in  company  with  a  common  soldier,  abandoning  her 
husband  and  children  about  three  months  before.  Five  days  only 
before  my  visit,  poor  Johnny  Hodges,  having  died  of  a  broken  heart, 
was  committed  to  that  peaceful  grave,  where  the  wicked  cease  from 
troubling,  and  where  the  weary  are  at  rest.  On  the  same  day,  four 
little  children  were  received,  after  the  funeral,  as  inmates  of  the 
poor-house. 

"  I  have  known  them  well,  all  their  life-long,"  said  the  old  man, 
from  whom  I  obtained  the  information.  "  The  first  four  or  five 
years  of  their  married  life,  there  was  not  a  likelier,  nor  a  thriftier, 
nor  a  happier  couple,  in  the  village.  Hodges  was  at  his  forge  early 
and  late  ;  and  his  wife  was  a  pattern  of  neatness  and  industry.  But 
the  poor  woman  was  just  as  much  poisoned  with  rum,  as  ever  a  man 
was  with  arsenic.  It  changed  her  nature,  until,  at  last,  it  rendered 
her  a  perfect  nuisance.  Everybody  speaks  a  kind  word  of  poor 
Hodges  ;  and  everybody  says  that  his  wife  killed  him,  and  brought 
his  children  to  the  poor-house.  This  is  a  terrible  curse  to  be  sure. 
Pray,  sir,  '  can't  something  be  done  to  put  an  end  to  the  evils  of  in 
temperance?''  " —  Such,  thought  I,  was  the  inquiry  of  poor  Johnny 
Hodges.  How  long  can  the  intelligent  legislatures  of  our  country 
conscientiously  permit  this  inquiry  to  pass,  without  a  satisfactory 
reply  ?  How  many  more  wives  shall  be  made  the  enemies  of  their 
own  household ;  how  many  more  children  shall  be  made  orphans  ; 
how  many  more  temperate  men  shall  be  converted  into  drunken 
paupers  ;  before  the  power  of  the  Jaw  shall  be  exerted,  to  stay  the 
plague  !  In  the  present  condition  of  the  world,  while  the  legislature 
throws  its  fostering  arm  around  this  cruel  occupation,  how  many 
there  are,  who  will  have  abundant  cause  to  exclaim,  like  poor  Johnny 
Hodges,  from  the  bottom  of  their  souls,  —  WHAT  A  CURSE  !  — How 
many  shall  take  as  fair  a  departure  for  the  voyage  of  life,  and  make 
shipwreck  of  all  their  earthly  hopes,  in  a  similar  manner!  How 
many  hearts,  not  guilty  of  presumptuous  sins,  but  grateful  for 
Heaven's  blessings  in  some  humble  sphere,  shall  be  turned,  by  such 
misery  as  this,  into  broken  cisterns,  which  can  hold  no  earthly  joy ! 
How  many  husbands  of  drunken  wives ;  how  many  wives  of  drunken 
husbands;  how  many  miserable  children,  flying  in  terror  from  the 
walking  corpses  of  inebriated  parents,  shall  cry  aloud,  like  poor 
Johnny  Hodges,  in  the  language  of  despair,  WHAT  A  CURSE! 


A  WORD  IN  SEASON, 

OR 

THE    SAILOR'S    WIDOW. 


A  yentle  pressure  upon  a  delicate  sprin?  will  sometimes  open  the  way,  and  remove  an  ofcatrwetlOW, 
Which  all  other  means  have  been  applied  in  vain  to  overcome.  The  poweis  of  eloquence,  the  fovM 
of  reason,  the  precepts  of  religion  have  been  brought,  ineffectually,  10  bear  upon  the  head  and  heart, 
for  many  successive  years  ;  yet  a  single  suggestion,  from  an  unexpected  quarter,  in  some  fortunatt 
moment,  has,  at  last,  fixed  uself  upon  the  mind  with  irresistible  power,  and  sunk  into  the  heul,and 
(ubdued  the  affections,  and  been  the  immediate  means,  under  the  blessing  ol  God,  of  turning  the 
tinner  from  his  way*. 

There  are  examples  of  moderate  and  immoderate  drinkers,  who  have  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  tin 
admonitions  of  the  wise,  and  to  the  earnest  exhortations  of  the  r  friends;  they  hare  continued, 
imperceptibly  to  themselves,  but  manifestly  to  nil  tiesi-le,  10  approach  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  fatal 
precipice  from  day  to  day.  Toall  human  observation,  theirdestruction  has  appeared  to  be  inevitable. 
But  it  was  not  so  written  in  the  volume  of  God's  holy  will.  The  tears  of  a  disappointed  and  hearties* 
wife,  or  a  word  in  season,  even  from  the  lips  of  a  child,  have,  occasionally,  recalled  th«  wanderei 
from  his  ruinous  career. 

The  little  narrative,  which  follows,  it  an  illustration  of  these  remarks  from  real  life. 


THE  face  of  a  beautiful  child  is  an  object  of  peculiar  attraction, 
when  smiles  and  tears  are  striving  for  the  mastery  there.  Mr. 
Selden's  attention  was  so  completely  arrested  by  this  very  condition 
of  things,  exhibited  on  the  countenance  of  little  Arthur,  a  boy  about 
seven  years  of  age,  that  he  put  down  the  decanter,  which  he  held 
in  his  hand,  and,  for  a  moment,  contemplated  the  features  of  this 
uncommonly  interesting  child,  with  an  expression  of  delight  and 
surprise.  The  consciousness,  that  he  had  attracted  the  observation 
of  his  father,  prompted  that  smile,  which  beamed  upon  the  boy's, 
features,  when  he  encountered  the  inquiring  glance  of  an  affection 
ate  parent ;  but  the  conflict  was  not  yet  over  ;  the  sunbeam  had  not 
yet  dried  up  the  shower.  —  "What  is  the  matter  with  Arthur?" 
said  Mr.  Selden  to  his  amiable  wife,  who  sat,  with  her  Bible  in  her 
hand,  waiting  for  the  first  stroke  of  the  village  bell.  It  was  Sab 
bath  day,  and  she  was  about  to  proceed  with  her  children  to  tht 
house  of  God.  Mr.  Selden  had  ordered  his  horse  and  gig,  and  pro 
posed  to  pass  the  morning  in  visiting  his  greenhouse,  in  a  neighbor 
ing  village.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  Arthur?"  said  he,  repeating 
the  question,  as  he  again  raised  the  brandy-bott?e  from  the  sideboard 
"  1  really  cannot  imagine,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Selden  :  "  go  tx 
papa,  my  child,"  continued  she,  "  and  tell  him  what  is  the  matter.' 
The  little  fellow  walked  reluctantly  toward  his  father.  "Con* 


154  A  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW. 

tell  me  what  makes  you  weep  so,  my  son,"  said  his  father,  patting 
him  gently  upon  the  head.  —  "  Why,  dear  papa,  I  was  thinking," 
said  the  child,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "  I  was  thinking  how  we  should 
all  cry,  if  you  should  die,  dear  papa,  like  poor  Jemmy."  —  "  And 
pray,  who  was  poor  Jemmy1?"  inquired  Mr.  Selden.  —  "  He  was  a 
drunkard,  dear  papa,"  replied  little  Arthur,  as  he  continued  to  weep 
by  his  father's  knee.  —  "I  should  really  like  to  know,"  said  Mr. 
Selden,  evidently  with  excited  temper,  and  turning  a  glance  of  angry 
suspicion  upon  his  wife,  as  he  put  down  the  brandy  bottle,  with 
some  violence,  upon  the  table;  "I  should  like  to  know  who  has 
been  giving  this  child  his  first  lesson  in  impudence."  —  If  the  child's 
remark  had  been  altogether  inapplicable  to  the  parent's  condition,  it 
would  have  excited  no  unpleasant  sensation  in  the  mind  of  Mr 
Selden.  It  was  manifestly  otherwise.  This  gentleman's  habits  had 
been,  for  some  time,  a  source  of  disquietude  to  several  of  his  friends. 
Upon  the  present  occasion,  little  Arthur  had  most  innocently  un 
veiled  the  picture,  and  presented  it,  in  full  view,  before  his  father's 
face.  The  words  of  truth  and  soberness  occasionally  drop  from  the 
lips  of  these  little  ones,  with  irresistible  power.  The  seeds  of  com 
mon  sense,  cast  into  the  natural  soil,  will  often  spring  up  and  bear 
fruit,  before  we  are  prepared  to  expect  the  harvest.  Tears  came 
into  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Selden  ;  — it  was  impossible  for  an  affectionate 
wife  to  contemplate,  even  in  imagination,  the  painful  perspective  of 
such  a  picture,  without  sorrow.  —  "I  know  nothing  of  poor  Jemmy's 
story,  my  dear,"  said  she ;  "  I  have  never  heard  of  it  before,  and  I 
have  not  the  slightest  idea  that  any  person  has  instructed  the  child 
to  say  anything  offensive  to  your  feelings." 

"  Arthur,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Selden,  evidently  struggling  to 
suppress  more  than  one  emotion  of  his  soul,  "who  is  poor  Jemmy, 
and  who  told  you  the  story,  my  dear?  Let  me  know  all  about  it." 
—  "  Oh  no,  dear  papa,"  said  the  child,  as  he  wiped  the  tears  from 
his  eyes  ;  "  it  is  too  long  a  story  to  tell  you  now,  for  the  bell  begins 
to  ring.  But  Jemmy  was  the  son  of  Mary  Morrison,  the  washer 
woman.  Mary  told  it,  last  washing  day,  to  sister  Nancy,  and  1 
stood  by  and  heard  it  all.  It  will  make  you  cry,  father,  I  know  it 
will.  Old  Robert,  the  coachman,  heard  it,  and  he  cried  a  great 
deal ;  though  he  pretended  to  be  whistling  and  cleaning  his  harness ; 
and  he  was  angry  with  me  because  I  peeped  under  his  hat."  — 
"  Well,  well,"  said  his  sister,  a  very  pretty  girl  of  sixteen,  who  hail 
just  come  into  the  room,  to  go  with  her  mother  to  church,  and  who 
had  caught  the  last  words  ;  "  well,  well,  master  Arthur,  I  wonder 
who  dreamed  of  Jemmy  Morrison,  last  night,  and  cried  about  him 
in  the  morning!"  —  "And  what  if  I  did,  sister  Nancy?"  said 


A  WORD  IN  SEASON,   OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW.  155 

Arthur :  "  when  poor  Mary  told  us  the  story,  you  cried  as  much  as 
she  did :  and,  mother,  Nancy  has  written  half  a  sheet  of  poetry, 
about  poor  Jemmy  Morrison,  and  wet  the  paper  so  with  her  tears, 
that  she  could  not  write  any  more."  —  "  Come,  my  children,"  said 
Mrs.  Selden,  "let  us  go. — My  dear,"  continued  she,  turning  to 
her  husband,  "  I  suppose  you  will  return  from  your  ride  before 
dinner."  —  "I  shall  not  ride  this  morning,"  he  replied  ;  and,  calling 
old  Robert,  he  directed  him  to  put  up  his  horse.  "  I  will  walk  to 
church  with  you,  Susan,"  said  Mr.  Selden  to  his  wife. — "Will 
you,  my  dear  husband]"  she  replied :  "  I  am  truly  rejoiced  to  hear 
you  say  so."  —  "  Only  think  of  it,"  whispered  little  Arth  *j  tc  his 
sister,  in  the  entry,  "  father  is  going  to  meeting !" 

Little  Arthur  was  delighted  to  hold  his  father's  hand,  and  walk 
by  his  side.  For  more  than  two  years,  the  members  of  this  little 
family  had  not  enjoyed  the  happiness  of  walking  to  God's  house,  in 
company  together.  The  sermon  was  one  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 

's  most  admirable  appeals  to  the  consciences  of  impenitent  men. 

Nothing  occurred  to  lessen  the  edifying  solemnity  of  the  Sabbath, 
excepting  the  officious  efforts  of  little  Arthur  to  find  the  hymn  for 
his  father,  whom  he  considered,  hi  some  degree,  as  a  stranger,  at  the 
head  of  his  own  pew. 

"  You  cannot  tell,  my  dear  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Selden,  as  they 
returned  from  church,  "  how  very  happy  you  have  made  me,  by 
going  with  me,  this  morning,  to  the  house  of  God,  instead  of  pass 
ing  it  in  your  greenhouse.  Look,  my  dear,  at  those  little  ones," 
continued  this  affectionate  wife  ;  "  what  are  all  the  plants  upon  the 
earth,  from  the  cedar  to  the  hyssop;  —  what  are  they  to  us  com 
pared  with  these !  Can  we,  consistently  and  rationally,  devote  our 
moments,  few  and  fleeting  as  they  are,  —  and,  especially,  can  we 
devote  the  better  part  of  God's  holy  day  to  the  care  and  cultivation 
of  perishable  shrubs,  while  we  have  these  precious  shoots  immedi 
ately  before  us,  which  it  is  our  peculiar  duty  so  to  nurture,  that  they 
may  be  ready,  in  that  hour,  when  God  shall  transplant  them  into 
paradise  ! "  —  These  were  words  in  season.  Though  he  replied  not, 
the  mind  of  Mr.  Selden  had  evidently  been  solemnized.  They  were 
not  .he  only  words  in  season,  which  had  sunk,  that  day,  and  settled 
in  the  softened  heart. 

At  the  dinner  hour,  the  brandy  bottle  was  placed  upon  the  table, 
as  usual ;  but  its  contents  remained  untasted  and  untouched.  —  "  O, 
mother,"  cried  little  Arthur,  when  his  father  had  left  the  room,  "1 
am  so  glad,  papa  has  not  taken  any  brandy  to-day !  I  wish  he 
could  hear  Mary  Morrison  tell  about  her  poor  Jemmy  ;  I  am  sure 
father  would  never  take  any  more." 


156  \  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW. 

In  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Selden  again  accompanied  his  family  to  the 
house  of  God.  Though  unusually  silent  through  the  day,  his  coun 
tenance  betokened  a  subdued  and  anxious  spirit  within.  "  Should 
my  husband,"  thought  Mrs.  Selden,  "  from  this  day,  renounce  a 
habit,  which  has  filled  us  with  sorrow  and  apprehension,  can  we 
doubt  that  a  kind  and  all-merciful  God  has  put  a  word  in  season  into 
the  mouth  of  our  little  boy ;  and  made  him  the  unconscious  minister 
of  incalculable  good  to  us  all !" 

The  tea  service  had  scarcely  been  removed,  when  little  Arthur 
came  running  up  stairs  from  the  kitchen,  to  announce  that  Mary 
Morrison  was  below.  It  was  the  habit  of  this  poor  woman  to  stop 
in,  of  a  Sabbath  evening,  and  pass  half  an  hour  with  Mr.  Selden'a 
domestics.  "  Oh,  dear  father,"  said  little  Arthur,  "do  let  Mary 
Morrison  come  up  and  tell  the  story  of  poor  Jemmy."  — "  Perhaps, 
my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Selden,  "  your  papa  may  not  wish  to  hear  it. 
and  possibly  it  may  embarrass  poor  Mary."  —  "  Let  her  come  up, 
my  dear,  if  she  will,"  said  Mr.  Selden  :  "  we  are  quite  alone,  and 
I  have  heard  so  much  of  this  famous  story,  that  I  should  like  to 
hear  the  story  itself."  —  Long  before  the  last  words  had  been  uttered, 
Arthur,  without  waiting  for  any  other  commission,  had  rushed  into 
the  kitchen,  and  begun  to  negotiate  with  Mary  Morrison  for  the  story 
of  Jemmy.  But  his  success  was  not  equal  to  his  zeal.  This  tale 
of  sorrow  could  not  be  told,  by  poor  Mary,  without  levying  a  tax 
upon  the  heart.  Though  she  had  worked,  for  several  years,  in  the 
Selden  family,  little  had  been  known  of  her  private  history,  saving 
that  she  was  very  industrious,  very  honest,  and  very  poor.  During 
the  preceding  week,  some  casual  association  had  renewed  the  recol 
lection  of  her  sorrows  ;  and,  for  the  first  time,  she  had  freely  and 
feelingly  related  the  story,  which  had  made  such  a  forcible  impres 
sion  on  the  minds  of  Mr.  Selden's  children.  — "  You  must  not 
expect  a  famous  story,  dear  father,"  said  Nancy,  "  even  if  Mary 
Morrison  can  be  prevailed  on  to  tell  it."  — "  Well,  my  dear,"  said 
Mi 3.  Selden,  "  I  do  not  know  that  we  can  do  better  than  listen  to 
this  tale  of  real  misery ;  go  down  and  induce  the  poor  woman  to 
come  up."  —  In  a  short  time  the  children  returned  with  Mary  Mor 
rison.  Mr.  Selden  bade  her  sit  down,  as  she  would  be  weary 
before  she  had  finished  her  story  ;  and  little  Arthur's  services  were 
not  wanting,  in  furnishing  a  chair.  But  some  time  elapsed,  before 
she  could  overcome  her  scruples  and  accept  the  proffered  kindness. 
Mary  Morrison  was  apparently  about  five-and-forty  years  of  age. 
She  had  evidently  been  very  pretty  in  her  youth.  Care  had  done 
more  than  time  in  rendering  her  less  so ;  and  her  hair  had  become 
prematurely  gray.  She  was  tidily  dressed,  in  her  Sabbath  apparel 


A  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW.  157 

"  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Seldcn,  with  great  kindness  of  manner,  "Mr. 
Selden  and  myself  do  not  wish  to  cause  you  unnecessary  pain,  but 
we  have  heard  from  our  children  such  an  interesting  account  of  the 
loss  of  your  son  James,  that  we  are  very  desirous  of  hearing  the 
story  from  yourself;  and  we  should  be  glad  to  hear  some  account 
of  your  husband  also." 

"  Why,  ma'am,"  said  Mary  Morrison,  "  I  will  tell  you  and  Mr 
Sevteii  the  story,  as  I  told  it  to  Miss  Nancy,  the  other  day.  My 
chief  misfortune  was  the  death  of  my  poor  Jemmy.  I  thought, 
when  his  father  was  lost,  there  could  be  no  trouble,  in  this  world, 
greater  than  that ;  but,  when  I  came  to  part  with  Jemmy,  I  wa* 
forced  to  grieve  not  only  for  the  poor  boy's  death,  but  for  the  man 
ner  of  it  too.  It  well  nigh  broke  my  heart,  but  God  has  bound  it 
up ;  so  that  I  am  comforted  in  the  hope  of  meeting  my  dear  bus- 
band,  in  a  better  world  ;  and  as  for  Jemmy,  it  will  be  known,  that 
the  poor  lad  was  not  lost  through  any  neglect  of  mine. 

"  My  father  and  mother  were  very  poor.  They  were  industrious, 
and  yet  I  do  not  think  they  were  thrifty.  Both  my  parents  were  in 
the  habit  of  taking  spirit,  in  the  old-fashioned  way.  A  great  deal 
of  all  the  little  money  they  had  went  for  rum,  and  a  great  deal  of 
time  was  wasted  in  drinking  it.  Yet  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  either 
of  them  *  the  worse  for  liquor ;'  and,  in  this  respect,  I  have  learned 
to  know  that  they  were  very  lucky.  Whether  it  was  owing  to  my 
father's  habit  of  drinking  or  not,  I  cannot  say,  but  he  was  confined 
with  rheumatism,  for  the  last  four  years  of  his  life ;  and  died  so 
poor,  that  my  mother  and  her  three  children  went  to  the  poor-house. 
I  was  the  oldest,  and  was  bound  out  to  a  family,  that  afterwards 
moved  into  the  city.  When  I  was  sixteen,  I  became  acquainted  with 
George  Morrison.  The  lady,  with  whom  I  lived,  seeing  that 
George  and  myself  were  attached  to  each  other,  very  kindly,  but 
without  my  knowledge,  made  inquiries  respecting  him.  '  Mary,'  said 
she  one  day  to  me,  *  are  you  going  to  be  married  to  George  ?'  I 
told  her  I  thought  of  it.  '  Well,'  said  she,  '  you  can't  do  better. 
[  have  taken  pains  to  inquire,  and  I  hear  he  is  an  honest,  worthy 
young  man.'  We  were  married,  when  I  was  eighteen,  and  he  was 
twenty-five ;  and,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  there  was  about  as  much 
happiness,  in  the  four  years  of  our  marriage,  as  many  others  are 
permitted  to  see,  in  the  course  of  a  long  life.  When  my  heart 
rebels,  and  my  tears  begin  to  flow,  I  try  to  see  God's  justice  and 
mercy  in  this  way.  And,  if  poor  George  had  lived  to  witness  the 
fate  of  our  only  child,  it  would  surely  have  broken  his  heart;  for 
there  was  nothing',  which  he  more  thoroughly  detested,  than  intem 
perance.  He  often  told  mo,  if  Ue  shoiiid  be  takea  away,  before 

vot.  i.  14 


158  A  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW, 

Jemmy  grew  up,  and  if  the  lad  should  be  inclined  to  the  sea,  to 
warn  him  to  avoid,  in  every  port,  a  drunken,  sailor  landlord,  as  ne 
would  shun  the  gates  of  hell  and  the  chambers  of  death.  These 
were  the  last  words,  that  poor  George  ever  said  to  me,  the  hour  that 
he  left  me,  to  go  his  last  voyage."  —  Poor  Mary  put  her  handker 
chief  to  her  eyes ;  and  little  Arthur  got  off  his  father's  knee,  and 
took  his  position  by  her  side. 

"  At  that  time,"  continued  she,  "  Jemmy  was  about  two  years 
and  a  half  old  ;  and  he  was  a  great  Comfort  to  me  then.  Many  a 
stormy  night  I  have  rocked  the  child  in  his  cradle,  and  sent  up  my 
poor  prayers  to  the  mariner's  God,  fcr  my  sailor  boy.  —  My  hus 
band  was  to  be  gone  about  eighteen  months.  Ten  of  them  had 
worn  wearily  away,  and  I  had  received  no  information,  excepting 
hat  the  ship  had  arrived  out,  and  that  all  hands  were  well.  About 
a  month  from  that  time,  old  Bob  Lazell  brought  me  a  letter  from 
George,  and  lightened  my  heart  of  its  anxious  burthen.  He  was 
well  and  happy  ;  and,  in  the  course  of  six  or  eight  weeks,  the  ship 
was  to  sail,  on  the  return  voyage.  In  the  wilduess  of  my  joy,  1 
read  the  letter  to  little  Jemmy,  who  had  not  yet  learnt  his  letters.  — 
Seventeen  months  had  gone  by.  —  Early  one  Sabbath  morning,  a 
neighbor  came  in  to  inform  me,  that  my  husband  had  returned, 
and  that  the  Ajax  was  standing  up  the  harbor.  I  left  my  little  boy 
in  charge  of  this  kind  friend,  and  ran  to  borrow  a  spy-glass  :  — it 
was  so  ;  my  husband  had  informed  me  before  of  the  ship's  signals  ; 
and  I  distinguished  the  white  ball  in  the  blue  flag  at  the  fore.  I  ran 
hastily  home  and  put  on  my  cloak  and  bonnet";  for,  though  they 
laughed  at  me  a  little  for  my  eagerness,  I  was  not  ashamed,  after 
such  a  separation,  to  meet  my  dear  husband,  halfway  at  least.  I 
soon  saw  the  boat  pulling  for  the  wharf.  It  contained  but  half  a 
dozen  of  the  crew.  I  thought  I  saw  my  husband  ;  —  but  I  was  mis 
taken  ; —  I  could  not  see  clearly,  for  my  eyes  were  so  filled  with 
tears  of  joy.  In  a  few  minutes,  they  came  upon  the  wharf.  The  first 
man  was  our  neighbor,  John  Weston.  I  shook  hands  with  him  ;  — 
he  seemed  desirous  of  avoiding  me.  — 'How  is  George?'  said  I.  — 
His  lip  quivered;  —  he  could  not  reply.  —  'Oh,  my  God!'  I 
exclaimed,  and  my  next  conscious  moment  was  upon  my  bed,  with 
a  few  kind  friends  around  me. 

"  I  soon  learned  that  my  poor  George  had  been  washed  overboard 
in  a  gale,  and  was  lost.  Grievous  as  it  was  to  learn  these  bittei 
tidings,  I  can  now  say,  from  the  bottom  of  a  broken  heart,  that  it 
is  happiness  to  think  of  a  dear  husband,  who  died  irr  the  discharge 
of  his  duty  and  lies  beside  some  coral  rock,  with  the  sea-weed  for 
his  winding  sheet ;  while  it  is  niiw.ry  to  turn  my  thoughts  upon  my 
poofr  Jemmy,  who  lisa  in  the  drunkard's 


A  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW.  159 

•'  The  neighbor*  were  very  kind  to  me  ;  and,  when  John  Weston 
brought  my  poor  George's  sea-chest  from  the  ship,  he  cried  over  it, 
like  a  child.  They  were  always  great  cronies,  from  their  cradles  ; 
and  John's  wife  and  myself  were  frequently  together,  solacing  our 
lonely  hours,  by  talking  of  our  kind  husbands.  She  opened  the 
chest  for  me  ;  — I  had  not  the  heart  for  it ;  — and,  when  she  took 
out  the  toys  and  keepsakes,  which  my  husband  was  biuging  home 
for  Jemmy  and  me,  she  wept  over  them,  almost  as  freely  as  I  ditl 
myself. 

"  In  addition  to  this  great  affliction,  I  had,  from  that  time,  a  iarga 
share  of  bodily  sickness.  My  little  boy,  in  his  youth,  w»a  a  real 
blessing ;  and,  as  he  grew  up,  there  never  was  a  more  kind-hearted 
or  dutiful  child.  —  My  father,  poor  and  humble  as  his  condition  was, 
had  always  been  fond  of  reading.  He  had  once  been  a  teacher  in 
the  village  school ;  and  he  had  taken  great  pains  to  instruct  me,  in 
reading,  writing,  and  ciphering.  This  was  of  great  use  to  me,  as 
it  enabled  me  to  teach  little  Jemmy,  at  least  as  much  of  these  things 
as  I  knew  myself.  He  took  readily  to  his  learning.  When  he  was 
eight  years  old,  I  sent  him  to  the  town  school.  His  spirits  were 
very  great,  and  his  temper  was  affectionate  and  confiding.  I  soon 
perceived  that  he  was  in  danger,  from  the  example  of  bad  boys.  At 
>en,  I  bound  him  out,  as  an  apprentice,  to  a  block  and  pump  maker, 
A  Mr.  Stetson.  He  was  an  excellent  man,  but  Jemmy  thought  he 
was  too  strict,  in  his  religious  notions ;  and  I  thought  so  too,  at  that 
time ;  though  it  is  likely  enough  I  was  wrong.  Mr.  Stetson  com 
plained,  and  sometimes  severely,  as  I  thought  at  the  time,  if  Jemmy 
was  ever  absent  from  church  or  family  prayers.  At  seventeen  he 
became  entirely  dissatisfied,  and  bent  upon  going  to  sea.  Against 
this  I  struggled,  with  all  my  might,  for  a  long  time.  Finally,  how 
ever,  though  he  had  promised  not  to  go  without  my  permission,  yet 
as  it  was  plain,  that  his  heart  was  deeply  engaged  in  the  plan  ;  and 
as  he  was  constantly  telling  me  of  one  and  another  young  man,  who 
had  gone  to  sea,  and  were  making  their  way  in  the  world,  I  gave 
my  consent,  though  with  many  tears.  My  poor  boy  obtained  such 
a  voyage  as  gave  me  reason  to  expect  his  return  in  about  a  year. 
k.r.  Stetson  did  not  object  to  the  proposal :  he  told  me,  tliat  ho 
ih  "night  James  was  an  amiable  and  capable  young  man ;  but,  as  he 
ilisliked  his  business,  it  might,  perhaps,  be  as  well  for  him  to  change 
it  for  some  other.  I  have  no  doubt,  that  he  gave  my  poor  boy 
excellent  advice,  the  night  before  he  sailed  ;  but  James  never  liked 
Mr.  Stetson,  and,  when  I  asked  him  what  his  old  master  had  said 
to  him,  he  only  replied,  that  he  had  preached  him  a  long  sermon. 

14 1  fitted  him  for  sea  in  Uw  beet  manner  I  could  ;  and  put  every 


160  A  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW. 

little  thing,  that  I  thought  would  be  useful  to  him,  in  the  sea-cheat, 
that  had  been  his  poor  father's." 

"  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Selden,  "did  you  put  a  Bible  into  it?"  — 
Mary  Morrison  sobbed  bitterly.  — "  No,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  and  I 
have  thought  of  it  since,  a  thousand  times.  Not  more  than  an  hour 
after  the  ship  had  sailed,  Mr.  Stetson  came  over  to  our  house,  with 
a  Bible  in  his  hand,  and  told  me  that  he  had  given  it  to  James,  the 
night  before,  but  that  he  had  forgotten  to  take  it  away.  James  was 
always  honorable,  and  would  not  have  done  a  mean  action  for  his 
right  hand,  I  am  sure ;  but  I  am  afraid  he  did  not  read  his  Bible, 
BO  much  as  some  other  boys."  — "  Well,  Mary,"  said  Mrs.  Selden, 
"  I  did  not  mean  to  interrupt  you  in  your  story." 

"  I  hope,"  continued  the  poor  woman,  "that  God  will  forgive 
me,  if  I  omitted  to  instruct  poor  Jemmy,  in  those  great  truths,  and 
to  rely  upon  those  holy  promises,  which  have  since  comforted  my 
poor  heart,  in  many  a  sorrowful  hour.  My  own  parents,  though 
they  were  generally  kind  to  all  their  children,  were  not  strict  at  all, 
in  relation  to  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath.  The  Bible  was  sel 
dom  read  in  our  family  ;  and  the  first  time  that  I  ever  listened  to 
family  prayer,  was  in  the  house  of  good  old  Madam  Burwell,  to 
whom  I  was  bound  out  by  the  overseers.  During  my  stay  with  her, 
the  Scriptures  were  read,  morning  and  evening.  My  husband  was 
not  much  given  to  such  things  ;  and  I  was  so  happy  in  my  marriage, 
that  I  fear  I  did  not  think,  as  deeply  and  as  gratefully  as  I  ought, 
that  it  was  the  Lord,  who  gave,  until  I  was  taught  to  know,  in  my 
dayb  and  nights  of  bitterness,  that  it  was  the  Lord,  who  taketh  away. 
I  had  brought  up  my  boy  to  be  strictly  honest  in  his  dealings,  to  spurn 
a  mean  action,  to  bear  his  misfortunes  like  a  man,  to  be  strictly 
moral  in  all  his  conduct,  and,  especially,  to  avoid  everything  that 
might  lead  him  into  intemperate  habits.  —  After  the  last  of  my  great 
misfortunes,  my  old  mistress,  Madam  Burwell,  who,  shortly  after 
my  marriage,  had  moved  back  into  her  native  village,  came  down 
on  purpose  to  see  me.  She  remained  a  week  hi  the  city,  and  came 
daily  to  visit  me.  She  taught  me  once  more  to  open  my  Bible  ;  and 
she  prayed  with  me,  till  my  heart  was  greatly  relieved.  '  Poor  child,' 
the  good  old  lady  used  to  say,  '  one  tells  you  that  time  will  bring 
relief,  and  another  bids  you  bear  your  calamities  with  fortitude,  and 
a  third  advises  you  to  go  into  the  world,  and  forget  thorn  there. 
Miserable  comforters  are  they  all.  The  help  of  man  is  a  poor 
broken  reed  :  there  is  no  help  but  this  one,'  said  the  old  lady,  hold 
ing  the  Bible  before  me.  *  /  have  been  young,  and  now  am  old;  yet 
have  I  not  seen  the  righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  bread.* 
Upon  the  second  visit  that  this  excellent  old  lady  made  to  my  hum- 


A  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW.  161 

ble  dwelling1,  after  I  had  buried  my  poor  Jemmy,  she  found  me  try 
ing  to  read  my  Bible ;  but  probably  my  countenance  was  full  of 
anxiety,  and  showed  her  the  inward  workings  of  a  restless  soul. 
*  Poor  child,'  said  she  again,  '  your  spirit  is  fluttering  about,  like  the 
\veaiy  dove  over  the  yei  unsettled  waters  ;  let  me  find  a  resting-place 
for  you,'  said  she,  as  she  took  the  book  into  her  own  hands.  She 
turned  ovei  the  leaves,  like  any  minister,  and  read  to  me  for  an  hour 
or  more.  It  seemed  as  though  God  had  softened  the  furrows  of  my 
»iard  heart,  to  receive  the  seed.  From  that  hour,  my  burthen  has 
beea  greatiy  lightened.  '  Go  daily  to  this  well,'  said  my  kind 
friend,  '  for  the  waters  of  comfort.  Bethesda's  well  is  never  dry.' 
U'roiVi  that  time,  I  have  never  ceased  to  read  my  Bible,  and  I  rejoice 
that  my  Redeemer  liveth.  How  I  wish,"  said  Mary  Morrison,  as 
she  sobbed  aloud,  "that  I  had  led  my  poor  Jemmy  to  the  same 
fountain,  when  he  was  young !" 

"  Don't  cry  any  more,  Mary,"  said  little  Arthur,  as  he  kissed 
her  hand.  —  "I  am  afraid,  that  we  have  caused  you  too  much  pain 
already,  my  poor  woman,"  said  Mr.  Selden,  upon  whom  the  story 
had  evidently  produced  a  deep  impression.  —  "  God  is  just,  though 
he  is  merciful,  sir,"  replied  Mary  Morrison,  "and  we  none  of  us 
suffer  more  than  we  deserve.  Perhaps  I  have  trespassed  on  your 
patience."  —  "  Oh  no,  Mary,"  said  Arthur,  "  it  makes  me  cry,  but 
I  should  like  to  hear  it  again,  I  am  sure  I  should." 

"My  boy,"  continued  Mary,  "instead  of  one,  had  been  gone  full 
three  years,  during  which  I  received  only  two  letters ;  though  he  told 
me,  upon  his  final  return,  that  he  had  written  several,  which  never 
came  to  hand.  In  the  first,  which  I  received  about  seven  months  after 
his  departure,  he  sent  me  an  order  on  the  owners,  for  a  portion  of 
his  wages.  About  three  years  after  he  went  to  sea,  I  heard  a 
report,  that  he  had  left  the  merchant  service,  and  shipped  on  board 
a  British  man-of-war.  This  news  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  sorrow. 
John  Weston,  who,  during  this  period,  had  been  several  voyages  to 
different  parts  of  the  world,  had  never  met  my  son,  though,  after 
careful  inquiry,  he  occasionally  heard  of  him  in  different  ports. 
Five  years  and  two  months  had  passed  away,  and  I  thought  I  should 
never  see  Jemmy  again.  But  the  neighbors  kept  up  my  spirits, 
and  made  me  hope  that  he  might  yet  return,  and  be  a  comfort  to  me 
for  the  rest  of  my  days.  — One  day,  as  I  sat  knitting  alone,  the  door 
opened,  and  who  should  come  in  but  Jemmy  himself!  At  the  first 
glance,  I  did  not  know  him ;  but  the  moment  he  spoke,  I  knew 
him  by  his  voice.  He  had  let  his  hair  and  whiskers  grow  very 
long  ;  but  I  should  have  known  him  for  all  that.  *  Dear  Jemmy,' 
said  I,  as  1  threw  my  arms  about  his  neck,  '  what  has  been  th« 

*OL.  I.  14* 


162  A   WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW. 

matter  with  you  *'  —  He  could  scarcely  reply ;  —  even  then,  though 
it  was  early  in  the  day,  he  was  under  the  influence  of  liquor.  Hii 
breath  was  strong  of  brandy.  —  I  looked  upon  the  face  of  my  poor 
lad,  and  I  saw  how  it  was.  He  was  then  only  two-and-twenty,  and 
he  seemed  forty  years,  at  least.  I  was  greatly  shocked,  as  you  may 
suppose,  to  find,  in  one,  who,  as  I  thought,  would  have  proved  the 
staff  of  my  old  age,  such  a  poor,  broken  reed.  It  would  have  soothed 
my  spirits,  to  have  thought  that  his  intoxication  was  accidental,  or 
that  it  had  been  produced  by  a  little  excess,  upon  his  first  arrival ;  but 
everything  about  this  poor  misguided  boy  told  too  plainly  the  story 
of  his  evil  habit.  There  was  never  a  clearer  skin,  when  he  went 
away  ;  it  was  my  delight  to  look  upon  his  ruddy  cheek.  His  color 
was  all  gone,  and  there  was  a  sickly  paleness  in  its  stead.  He  had 
the  stoop  of  an  old  man ;  and  the  bright  eye  of  my  poor  boy,  that 
used  to  look  upon  me  so  fondly,  was  dreadfully  bloodshot  and 
sunken.  —  It  was  an  awful  change.  Bad  as  it  was,  I  still  felt  that 
the  poor  lad  was  my  own  child.  He  was  too  much  under  the  influ 
ence  of  liquor,  to  give  any  clear  answers  to  my  inquiries.  I  helped 
him  on  to  the  bed.  '  My  dear  boy,'  said  I,  *  I  will  make  you  a  dish 
of  tea,  and  may  be  you  '11  feel  better.'  — '  No,  mother,'  he  replied, 
in  a  broken  voice,  'give  me  a  little  rum.'  —  'Oh  my  God,'  I  ex 
claimed,  '  have  I  been  waiting  five  wearisome  years,  and  only  for 
this!'  —  This  impatient  exclamation,  which  I  uttered  aloud,  seemed 
to  rouse  him  from  his  lethargy.  He  raised  himself  half  way  upon 
his  bed.  — '  Mother,'  he  exclaimed,  in  the  same  hollow  and  feeble 
tone,  '  don't  fret  about  it  now.  It  can't  be  helped.  I  'm  a  poor 
dog.  I  've  just  come  home  to  die :  and  you  may  speak  for  the 
coffin  as  soon  as  you  're  a  mind  to.'  —  I  sat  down,  and  buried  my 
face  in  my  hands,  and  wept,  for  half  an  hour,  in  perfect  silence. 
When  I  raised  my  eyes  he  was  sound  asleep.  The  next  day  he 
was  seized  with  a  raging  fever.  The  doctor  said  he  had  caught  a 
violent  cold,  but  that  intemperance  had  ruined  his  constitution  ;  and 
that  he  had,  at  that  time,  evident  marks  of  consumption.  He  was 
delirious  during  the  fever,  and  raved  a  great  deal  about  drunken 
landlords,  that  had  cheated  him,  and  broken  his  poor  mother's  heart. 
After  the  fever  left  him,  he  fell  into  a  consumption,  which  rapidly 
wasted  him  away.  On  the  fifty-ninth  day  after  his  return,  I  closed 
(he  eyes  of  my  poor  Jemmy ;  and  the  next  day  I  laid  him  and  all 
my  broken  hopes,  for  this  world,  in  the  silent  grave.  I  cut  away  a 
single  lock  of  his  long  dark  hair,  and  of  all  that  I  loved  so  dearly, 
this  alone  is  left  to  me  now." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Selden  were  deeply  affected  by  the  story  of  poor 
Jemmy.     "  Oh,  dear  papa,"  cried  little  Arthur,  "  you  won't  drink 


A  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW.  163 

any  more  brandy,  will  you!" — "Hush,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Scl 
den. — "I  am  not  displeased  with  you,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Selden 
"  and  I  have  been  greatly  interested  in  your  story,  Mary  Morrison. 
My  little  boy,  who  had  heard  it  before,  referred  to  it,  this  morning, 
in  a  manner,  which  offended  me  for  an  instant  only ;  but  I  trust,  by 
Heaven's  blessing,  it  may  profit  me  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  The 
suggestion  of  a  child  may  sometimes  prove  A  WORD  IN  SEASON. 
Come  hither,  Arthur,"  continued  Mr.  Selden.  "We  none  of  us 
can  tell  how  much  we  all  owe  you,  for  making  us  acquainted  with 
the  story  of  poor  Jemmy ;  and  I  shall  not  fail  to  comply  with  your 
request  to  drink  no  more  brandy.  To-morrow,  you  shall  go  with 
»ne,  my  son,  and  see  your  father  sign  the  pledge  of  the  Temperance 
Society."  A  smile  of  happiness  lighted  up  the  countenances  of  his 
children,  while  Mrs.  Selden  could  not  restrain  her  tears  of  joy.  — 
The  bell  rang  for  nine ;  and  Mary  Morrison  took  her  leave,  receiving 
the  kindest  assurances  of  continued  regard,  from  Mr.  Selden  and 
his  lady. 

"  Dear  papa,"  said  little  Arthur,  "  I  have  another  favor  to  ask. 
I  wish,  before  we  go  to  bed,  you  would  let  sister  Nancy  read  the 
verses,  that  she  wrote  about  Jemmy."  —  "With  all  my  heart," 
said  Mr.  Selden.  —  Nancy,  after  a  little  reluctance,  was  prevailed 
on  to  comply,  and  produced  the  following  lines ;  which,  at  least  her 
fond  father  and  mother  agreed,  were  prettily  written  and  prettily 
read 

THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW. 

MY  heart,  ah,  how  vainly  it  tries 

From  the  grief,  that  pursues  it,  to  flee ! 
By  the  side  of  some  coral  he  lies  ; 

His  shroud  the  green  weed  of  the  sea ! 

The  last  parting  words,  that  he  gave, 

Are  deep  in  my  bosom  enshrined ; 
M  »T  is  for  thee  that  I  plough  the  dark  were, 

And  the  cherub  I  leave  thee  behind." 

To  win  the  boy's  bread  and  my  own, 

He  toiled  o'er  the  merciless  wave 
But  I  now  am  a  widow  alone, 

And  he  lies  in  a  watery  grave. 

How  oft  have  I  rocked  thee  to  sleep, 

And  wished,  pretty  babe  but  for  thee, 
I  could  lay  myself  down  in  the  deep, 

Where  thy  father  lies  low,  in  the  sea! 


164  4  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THB  SAILOH'S  WIDOW. 

No  daylight  so  bright  as  thy  smile, 

No  sound  like  thy  voice  to  my  ears. 
How  oft  have  I  turned  from  my  toil. 

And  bathed  thee  with  kisses  and  tears ! 

Single-handed,  I  labored  for  thee, 
And  I  watched  thee,  by  night  and  by  dayt 

Thy  heart  was  inclined  to  the  sea, 
And,  in  sorrow,  I  sent  thee  away. 

Like  ages  the  weary  months  passed  ; 

But  my  heart  would  oft  cheeringly  say, 
He  shall  soothe  and  support  thee  at  last, 

When  thy  bonny  brown  hair  shall  be  gray.  — 

How  deceitful  our  hopes,  and  how  fair ! 

Poor  Jemmy  came  late  from  the  sea ; 
Gray  then  was  my  bonny  brown  hair ; 

But  no  soother  was  Jemmy  to  me. 

The  riot  of  fire,  in  his  veins, 

Destroyed  the  poor  boy  in  his  bloom : 
I  shrouded  his  wretched  remains, 

And  buried  my  hopes  in  the  tomb. 

The  poison,  which  killed  him,  defies 

The  power  of  a  mortal  to  save  ; 
In  his  locks  of  bright  auburn  he  lies, 

In  the  wretched  inebriate's  grave. 

This  bonny  brown  lock  that  I  wear, 

I  cut  from  his  motionless  brow ; 
Such  then  was  my  poor  Jemmy's  hair, 

And  it 's  all,  that  is  left  to  me  now. 

How  deceitful  our  hopes,  and  how  fair ! 

Poor  Jemmy  came  late  from  the  sea  ; 
Gray  then  was  my  bonny  brown  hair ; 

But  no  soother  was  Jemmy  to  me. 

"  Well  done,  Nancy,"  said  her  father,  as  he  brushed  away  the 
tears  from  his  eyes,  "  you  shall  be  the  poet  laureate  of  one  family 
at  least  " — After  a  short  pause,  Mr.  Selden  raised  his  eyes,  and 
beheld  on  the  face  of  his  amiable  wife  an  expression  of  such  perfect 
happiness,  as  touched  him  to  the  heart.  The  children  had  retired. 
Arthur,  however,  had  previously  descended  to  the  kitchen,  and 
whispered  the  news  to  old  Robert,  the  coachman.  "  The  Lord  be 
thanked,"  said  this  faithful  old  domestic,  who  had  long  been  a  tem 
perance  man ;  "the  Lord  be  thanked,"  said  he  with  evident  satis 
faction  ;  "  upon  the  cold-water  plan,  what  a  kind-hearted,  even 
tempered  man,  mv  eood  master  will  he !" 


A  WORD  IN  SEASON,  OR  THE  SAILOR'S  WIDOW.  165 

Susan,"  said  Mr.  Selden,  as  they  were  about  to  retire,  "  this, 

I  trust,  will  long  be  remembered  as  a  most  interesting,  and  profitable 

Sabbath  to  us  all."  —  "Oh,  my  dear  husband,"   said  this  truly 

exot'llent  lady,  "  how  it  fills  my  heart,  to  overflowing,  with  gratitude 

to  God,  that  I  am  permitted  to  hear  such  words  as  these  from  my 

Dearest  earthly  friend!     As  good  old  Mrs.  Burwell  said  to  poor 

lary  Morrison,  the  spirit  is  too  apt  to  flutter  about,  like  the  weary 

ove  over  the  yet  unsettled  waters :  let  us  find  it  a  safe  resting-place 

u  the  Rock  of  Ages."      "  Even  so,"  replied  Mr.  Selden;  arid, 

'  pening  the  Bible,  he  read  a  portion  of  the  holy  volume. 

"  Pray,  master  Arthur,"  said  Mr.  Selden,  the  next  morning, 
1  why  are  you  dressed  up  so  trimly  to-day,  in  your  bettermost  suit?" 
4  Because,  dear  papa,"  he  replied,  "  we  are  going  this  morning, 
you  know,  to  good  Deacon  Palfrey's,  who  keeps  the  temperance 
book,  to  sign  the  pledge."—"  We !"  said  Mr.  Selden.  —  "  To  be 
sure,  dear  papa ;  and  mamma  and  Nancy  are  going  too.  Old  Robert, 
who  signed  it  long  ago,  says  that  children  sign  it,  who  are  only  six 
years  old,  and  I  am  seven."  "  Well,  well,"  said  his  father  with  a 
smile,  "you  have  made  up  a  party ;  and,  I  trust,  it  will  be  a  party 
of  pleasure  and  profit  to  us  all." 

The  Seldens  signed  the  pledge  that  day ;  and  thereby  took  away, 
most  effectually,  from  their  anti-temperance  neighbors,  that  very 
common  and  most  miserable  argument,  the  example  of  opulence  and 
fashion. 

This  family  is  now  one  of  the  most  pious  and  happy  in  the  county. 
We  cannot  omit  to  mention,  that,  on  that  very  morning,  old  Robert 
came  into  the  parlor  with  a  peculiar  smile,  bringing  in  a  new  family 
Bible.  "Mr.  Selden  told  me,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "to  remove  the 
liquor  stand  from  the  sideboard,  and  put  the  good  book  in  its  place." 
Not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground,  without  the  notice  of  that  God, 
whose  all-observing  eye  is  over  all  his  works.  If  praise  hath  been 
perfected  out  of  the  mouths  of  babes,  let  us  not  marvel,  that  from 
the  same  source  may  proceed  A  WORD  IN  SEASON  ;  which  may  provn 
the  blessed  harbinger  of  temporal  and  eternal  joy. 


SEED  TIME  AND  HARVEST. 


I*  thit  last  number  of  the  second  volume  of  our  Temperance  Tales,  we  offer  you  a  short  and  simpta 
narrative,  which  produced  a  very  deep  and  lasting  impression  upon  a  group  of  three  or  four  « f  m, 
an  it  was  related,  certainly  in  the  most  natural  and  touching  manner,  by  the  son  of  a  drunken  ftther. 
We  have  added  paragraph  to  paragraph,  with  a  growing  conviction  of  our  utter  inability  to  imitate 
the  voice  of  nature. 

As  the  story  is  a  brief  one,  it  shall  not  be  disfigured  by  a  tedious  preface.  If,  by  God's  blessing,  it 
shall  be  the  means  of  dispelling1  wretchedness  from  some  humble  dwelling,  —  if  it  shall  cause  a  sin 
gle  drunkard  to  reform,  and  bless  the  Lord,  who  giveth  Seed  Time  and  Harvest,  we  shall  never  regret 
that  we  have  bestowed  our  labors  in  the  field. 


IT  must  be  nearly  midnight,  thought  I,  as  I  walked  rapidly  along. 
I  had  travelled  full  fourteen  miles.  The  rain  descended  in  torrents ; 
and,  finding  ready  admittance,  at  a  farmer's  barn,  I  climbed  upon  a 
hay-mow,  and  threw  myself  down,  thoroughly  wet,  weary,  and 
sleepless.  — What  an  awful  visitor  it  is,  thought  I,  at  the  poor  cot 
tager's  fireside!  How  forcible  and  true  are  the  words  of  Holy 
Writ!  If  wine  be  "a  mocker,"  in  the  castles  of  the  rich, — 
among  the  habitations  of  the  poor,  "strong  drink  is  raging."  — 
There  was  I,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  turning  my  back  upon  my  birth- 
place^  upon  my  home,  upon  a  mother  and  sister,  whom  I  tenderly 
loved. — As  the  recollection  of  all  they  had  endured  already,  and 
the  anticipation  of  their  future  sufferings  rushed  upon  my  mind,  I 
had  almost  resolved  to  return  :  but,  alas  !  what  could  I  oppose  to  the 
ungovernable  fury  of  an  unkind  husband  and  an  apostate  father ! 
No,  thought  I,  I  will  fly  from  that,  which  I  can  neither  prevent  nor 
endure.  I  will  seek  my  bread  among  strangers.  By  the  kind  prov 
idence  of  Him,  who  hath  promised  to  be  the  Father  of  the  father 
less,  and  such,  in  reality,  I  am,  I  may  win,  by  honest  industry,  the 
means  of  bringing  comfort  to  her,  who  bore  me,  when  my  father's 
intemperance  and  prodigality  shall  have  made  havoc  of  all  that 
remains ;  and  when  the  last  acre  of  the  homestead  shall  have  passed 
into  the  rum-seller's  hands.  My  resolution  was  fixed.  Sleep  was 
gathering  over  my  eyelids.  I  got  upon  my  knees  to  commit  my- 
st.lf  to  God  in  prayer.  I  could  scarcely  give  form  to  my  scattered 
thoughts ;  — it  seemed,  under  the  condition  of  high  excitement,  in 
which  I  then  was,  that  my  father  was  before  me,  enraged  at  my 
departure,  and  demanding  who  had  taught  me  to  pray.  It  was  he 
himself,  who  first  set  me  upon  my  knees,  and  placed  my  infant 


168  SEED  TIME  AND  HARVEST. 

hands  together,  and  put  right  words  into  my  mouth,  and  bade  me 
ask  of  God  to  put  right  thoughts  into  my  heart.  How  oftei  had  he 
led  his  little  household  in  morning  and  evening  prayer !  How 
often,  as  we  walked  to  God's  house,  in  company  together,  had  he 
led  the  way !  How  constantly,  in  our  daily  labors,  had  he  conducted 
our  thoughts  to  serious  contemplation,  by  some  sensible  and  devout 
allusion  to  those  employments,  in  which  we  were  engaged  !  Lost 
and  gone,  degraded  and  changed  he  was ;  but  he  had  been  once  a 
kind  father,  a  tender  husband,  a  generous  neighbor,  a  faithful  friend, 
a  pious  and  a  professing  Christian. 

Rum  and  ruin,  hand  in  hand,  had  entered  our  dwelling  together. 
The  peace  of  ou.r  fireside  was  gone.  The  rum-seller  had  laid  my 
poor,  misguided  father,  under  the  bonds  of  an  unrelenting  and  fatal 
appetite  ;  he  had  won  away  the  little  children's  bread  ;  and  converted 
our  once-happy  home  into  an  earthly  hell,  whose  only  portal  of  exit 
was  the  silent  grave. 

It  was  very  evident  to  me,  that  we  were  going  to  destruction. 
My  father's  interest  in  the  welfare  of  us  all  was  at  an  end.  Debts 
were  accumulating  fast.  His  farm  was  heavily  mortgaged.  His 
habits,  long  before,  had  compelled  the  church  to  exclude  him  from 
the  communion  ;  and  the  severest  abuse  was  the  certain  conse 
quence,  whenever  my  poor,  old  mother  went  singly  to  the  table  of 
her  Lord.  I  could  have  borne  my  father's  harsh  treatment  of  myself 
and  of  my  poor  sister  Rachel ;  but  he  returned  home,  at  last,  con 
stantly  intoxicated  ;  and,  when  opposed  in  anything,  proceeded  to 
swear,  and  rave,  and  break  the  furniture,  and  abuse  my  old  mother, 
who  bore  it  all,  with  the  patience  of  a  saint ;  — I  made  up  my  mind, 
that  I  could  stand  it  no  longer. 

I  waited  cautiously,  for  a  favorable  opportunity,  and  asked  my 
father's  permission  to  go  to  sea.  He  flew  into  a  terrible  rage.  The 
next  morning  he  seemed  to  be  in  a  better  frame  of  mind,  and,  as  I 
was  chopping  wood  before  the  door,  he  asked  me,  of  his  own  accord, 
what  had  induced  me  to  wish  to  leave  home,  and  go  to  sea.  I  hes 
itated,  for  some  time  ;  but,  as  he  urged  me  to  speak  out,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  appeared  to  be  much  calmer  than  usual;  —  "  Father," 
said  I,  "it  kills  me  to  see  you  and  hear  you  talk  and  act  so  badly  to 
poor  mother."  —  He  flew  into  a  greater  rage  than  before,  and  bade 
me  never  open  my  mouth  upon  the  subject  again. 

Thus  matters  continued  to  progress  from  bad  to  worse.  Love  is 
said  not  to  stand  still.  This  saying  is  manifestly  true  in  regard  to 
tlw  love  of  strong  drink. 

Our  domestic  misery  continued  to  increase,  from  week  to  week. 
There  were  intervals,  in  which  my  father  was  more  like  himself, 


SEED   TIME  AND   HARVEST.  169 

more  like  the  good,  kind  parent  and  husband,  whose  outgoings,  in 
the  morning,  had  been  a  source  of  affectionate  regret,  and  whose 
incomings,  at  night,  had  been  a  subject  of  joy  to  the  wife  of  his  bosom 
and  the  children  of  his  loins.  I  have  seen  the  faint  smile  of  satis 
faction  brighten  upon  my  poor  mother's  pale  features,  upon  such 
occasions  ;  and  I  have  marked  the  sigh,  half  suppressed,  which  told 
the  secret  of  an  agonized  spirit,  and  which  seemed  to  say,  How  pre 
cious,  how  brief  is  this  little  interval  of  joy! 

It  was  indeed  like  the  parting  sunbeam,  the  last,  lingering  light 
of  a  summer  day,  which  plays  upon  the  cold  grave,  where  the  treas 
ure  and  the  heart  are  destined  to  slumber  together. 

In  such  an  example  of  domestic  wretchedness  as  ours,  the  opera 
tion  of  cause  and  effect  was  perfectly  intelligible.  Rum  excited  into 
action  all  that  ",vas  contentious,  in  the  nature  of  my  parent.  A  keen 
perception  of  his  own  blame  worthiness,  notwithstanding  the  stupe 
fying  tendency  of  the  liquor  he  had  drunken,  increased  the  irritabil 
ity  of  his  temper.  A  word,  look,  or  gesture,  from  any  member  of 
the  household,  which  indicated  the  slightest  knowledge  of  his 
unhappy  condition,  when  he  returned,  at  night,  under  the  influence 
of  strong  drink,  was  surely  interpreted  into  an  intentional  affront. 
He  would  often  anticipate  reproof;  and,  as  it  were,  repay  it  before 
hand,  by  the  harshness  of  his  manners. 

The  habit  of  drinking,  which  is  invariably  the  prolific  mother  of 
sin  and  sloth,  wretchedness  and  rags,  is  sure  to  be  maintained  and 
kept  alive,  by  the  beggarly  progeny,  to  which  it  has  given  birth. 
Whenever  my  unhappy  father  was  dunned  for  the  interest  on  his 
mortgage,  or  any  other  debt,  which,  at  last,  he  had  no  means  to 
pay,  he  was  in  the  habit,  almost  mechanically,  as  soon  as  the  cred 
itor  had  departed,  of  turning  to  the  jug  of  rum,  for  relief  and 
oblivion. 

The  gloom  and  ill-nature,  which  had  hitherto  been  occasionally 
interspersed  with  exhibitions  of  kindlier  feelings  to  us  all,  appeared  to 
have  become  unvarying  and  fixed.  There  was  less  and  less,  from 
week  to  week,  of  an  April  sky.  All  was  chill  and  drear,  like  Novem 
ber.  One  evening,  my  mother  and  sister  had  been  busily  engaged,  as 
usual,  in  such  housewifery,  as  might  best  contribute  to  keep  our  poor 
wreck  of  a  domicil  together,  as  long  as  possible.  I  had  learned  to  write 
a  fair  hand,  and  was  engaged  in  copying  some  papers,  for  our  squire, 
who  paid  me,  by  the  sheet.  It  had  gotten  to  be  nearly  ten  o'clock. 
My  mother  put  on  her  spectacles,  and,  opening  the  Bible,  began  to 
road.  Rachel  and  I  sat  by  the  fire,  listening  to  the  words  of  iruth 
an!  soberness.  My  poor  mother  had  fallen  upon  a  portion  of  Scrip 
ture,  which,  from  its  applicability  to  her  own  situation  and  that  of  hei 

VOL.    I.  15 


170  SEED   TIME  AND   HARVEST. 

children,  had  affected  her  feelings,  and  the  tears  were  in  hei  eyes 
when  the  loud  tramp  upon  the  door-step  announced  the  return  of 
my  father.  His  whole  appearance  was  unusually  ominous  of  evil. 
My  mother  stirred  the  fire,  and  I  placed  him  a  chair,  which  he 
kicked  over,  and  threw  himself  down  upon  the  bed,  and  called  for 
jupper.  Mother  told  him,  in  a  gentle  manner,  that  there  was  noth 
ing  in  the  house  but  some  bread.  He  told  her  she  lied,  and  swore 
terribly.  She  sat  silently  by  the  fire  ;  —  I  looked  up  in  her  face:  — 
she  wept,  but  said  nothing.  **  Don't  cry  so,  dear  mothei,"  said 
Rachel.  —  "Wife,"  said  my  father,  sitting  upon  the  edge  of  the 
bed,  *'  vhen  will  you  leave  off  crying  !"  —  "  Whenever  you  leave 
off  drinking,  husband,"  replied  my  mother  in  the  kindest  manner 
My  father  sprang  up,  in  a  hurricane  of  wrath,  and  with  a  dreadful 
oath,  hurled  a  chair,  at  my  mother's  head.  I  sprang  forward,  and 
received  its  full  force  upon  my  shoulder.  Rachel  and  my  mother 
fled  to  a  neighbor's  house,  and  my  father  struck  me  several  blows 
with  his  feet  and  fists ;  and,  as  I  made  my  escape,  I  left  him  dash 
ing  the  furniture  to  pieces,  with  the  fury  of  a  madman.  — I  rushed 
forth  to  seek  shelter  amid  the  driving  storm  —  from  the  tempest  of 
a  drunken  father's  wrath.  I  went,  as  speedily  as  possible,  to  the 
squire's  house,  and  begged  him  to  take  compassion  on  my  poor 
mother  and  sister.  Having  received  his  promise,  that  he  would  go 
instantly  over  to  our  cottage,  I  took  the  resolution,  which  I  have 
already  stated. 

After  I  had  passed  a  comfortless  night  in  the  farmer's  barn,  I 
pushed  forward  to  the  city.  I  had  a  trifle  of  change  in  my  pocket  ; 
I  bought  a  biscuit  of  a  travelling  baker,  and  I  had  no  relish  for  any 
other  than  the  beverage  of  God's  appointment,  which  was  near  at 
hand.  When  I  reached  the  city,  I  directed  my  course  to  one  of  the 
wharves,  and  found  no  difficulty,  as  I  was  unusua'ly  stout  for  my 
years,  in  obtaining  a  voyage,  as  a  green  hand,  in  a  ship  bound  to 
China.  Three  days  passed,  before  the  ship  sailed.  I  wrote  to  my 
mother  and  sister,  bidding  them  keep  up  their  spirits,  and  put  their 
trust,  as  I  did,  in  the  God  of  the  widow  and  the  fatherless,  for  such, 
and  even  worse,  was  our  condition.  I  asked  them  to  say  to  father, 
when  he  was  sober,  that,  although  I  scarcely  expected  to  see  him 
tgain  in  this  world,  I  freely  forgave  all  his  ill-treatment  to  myself. 

1  worked  hard  and  strove  to  please  the  captain.  I  soon  found 
that  ploughing  the  sea  was  a  very  different  affair  from  ploughing 
the  land.  I  had  a  good  constitution,  and  a  cheerful  temper.  1  had 
been  taught,  at  all  times,  by  my  dear  mother,  and  by  my  poor, 
unhappy  father  also,  till  he  became  intemperate,  to  put  the  fullest 
•onfidence  in  the  promises  of  God.  When  we  arrived  in  China, 


SEED  TIME  AND  HARVEST.  171 

though  we  1'ad  shipped  out  and  home,  the  voyage  tfas  broken  up, 
and  the  ship  sold.  The  captain  settled  with  the  crew  to  their  entire 
satisfaction  ;  and  I  shall  always  be  grateful  for  his  kindness  to  me. 
He  got  me  a  voyage  to  England.  I  laid  out  my  wages,  by  hia 
advice.  I  could  not  have  followed  a  shrewder  counsellor.  He  was 
born  and  bred,  so  far  as  regards  his  land  learning,  in  one  of  the  most 
thrifty  villages  in  Connecticut.  We  had  a  most  boisterous  voyage 
from  Canton  to  Liverpool ;  but,  whenever  I  pulled  a  rope,  I  always 
pulled  a  little  harder  for  the  sake  of  my  old  mother  and  sister 
Rachel. — I  had  saved  every  penny  of  my  wages,  that  I  could  lay 
by,  and  my  little  investment  in  Canton  turned  out  far  beyond  my 
expectations.  I  do  not  think  I  was  avaricious ;  but  I  felt  it  to  be 
my  duty,  under  existing  circumstances,  to  save  my  earnings  for  my 
honored  mother.  Nevertheless,  I  felt  myself  authorized  to  indulge 
in  one  luxury  at  least ;  so,  upon  my  arrival  in  Liverpool,  I  went 
into  the  first  bookstore  and  bought  me  a  pocket  Bible. 

Five  years  had  now  gone  by,  in  which  I  had  sailed  many  thou 
sands  of  miles,  and  visited  various  corners  of  the  world.  During 
this  period,  I  had  gotten  together  a  larger  sum  of  money,  than  1  ever 
expected  to  possess  at  twenty-one;  besides  having  made  several 
remittances  to  the  squire,  for  my  old  mother's  use,  to  whom  I  wrote 
upon  every  convenient  opportunity.  They  all  came  to  hand,  as  I 
afterward  learned,  saving  one,  in  gold,  which  went  to  bottom,  with 
poor  Tom  Johnson,  who  was  lost  at  sea.  If  I  was  fortunate  enough 
to  save  my  hard  earnings,  just  let  me  say,  for  the  advantage  of  every 
brother  sailor,  that  there  are  four  things,  which  I  never  did  ;  I  never 
suffered  a  drop  of  grog  to  go  down  my  hatches,  blow  high  or  blow 
low  ;  I  never  rolled  a  stinking  weed,  like  a  sweet  morsel,  under  my 
tongue ;  I  never  crossed  hands  with  a  drunken  landlord  ;  and  I  never 
bore  away  from  a  poor  fellow,  whose  hammock  was  harder  than  my 
own. 

My  five  years'  absence  from  home  might  have  extended  to  fifty, 
but  for  many  recollections  of  my  mother  and  sister,  which  became 
more  forcible,  from  day  to  day.  My  remembrance  of  my  father 
was  of  the  most  painful  character :  the  very  recollection  of  his  ten 
derness,  in  the  days  of  my  childhood,  which  often  brought  tears  into 
o»y  eyes,  served  only  to  render  the  image  of  a  cruel  and  degraded 
jiarsnt  more  frightful  and  revolting. 

I  had  shipped,  about  this  time,  on  board  the  Swiftsure,  from  Lon  • 
dan  to  Oporto.  One  afternoon,  two  or  three  of  us,  a  day  or  two 
before  the  ship  sailed,  had  strolled  over  to  the  south  side  of  the 
Thames,  to  look  at  the  king's  dockyards  at  Deptford.  As  I  was 
rambling  among  the  docks,  I  received  a  smart  slap  on  the  shoulder 


172  SEED  TIME  AND  HARVK5TT. 

and,  turning  suddenly  round,  whom  should  I  see  hut  old  Tom  Tolm 
eon,  an  honest  fellow  as  ever  hroke  hread  or  wore  a  tarpnulin  !  He 
was  born  in  our  village  ;  had  followed  the  sea  for  nearly  forty  years  ; 
and,  once  in  the  course  of  three  or  four,  he  contrived  to  find  his  way 
to  the  old  spot,  and  spend  a  few  days  in  the  valley  where  he  was 
oorn.  —  "  Why,  Boh,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  heartily  glad  to  see  you,  my 
lad  ;  so  you  've  taken  leg  bail  of  the  old  folks,  and  turned  rover,  in 
good  earnest,  ey?"  —  I  told  him,  I  hoped  he  didn't  think  I  'd  left 
ttiy  old  mother  to  shirk  for  herself,  in  her  old  age.  —  "  Not  a  jot," 
replied  the  old  sailor  ;  "  Squire  Seely  has  told  me  the  whole  story, 
ind  says  he  has  put  the  sweat  of  your  brow,  more  than  onue  or  twice 
either,  into  the  old  lady's  hand,  and  made  her  old  weather  beaten 
heart  leap  for  joy,  to  hear  you  was  so  thoughtful  a  lad.  I  saw  your 
mother  about  a  year  ago,  and  your  sister  Rachel."  —  I  shook  old 
Tom  Johnson,  by  the  hand  ;  I  could  not  restrain  my  feelings,  for 
this  was  the  first  news  I  had  received  from  home,  for  more  than  five 
years.  — "  Come,  Bob,"  said  the  old  fellow,  tk  don't  be  for  opening 
your  scuppers  and  making  crooked  faces  ;  though  it  blows  hard 
enough  now,  it  may  get  to  be  calm  weather  after  all."  —  "  How  ig 
my  father  doing  now  ?"  I  inquired.  —  "  Why,  as  to  that,"  answered 
Tom  Johnson,  "  it 's  about  a  twelvemonth  since  I  was  there.  I  told 
the  old  lady  I  might  cross  your  hawse  in  some  part  of  the  world. 
She  has  a  rough  time  of  it,  my  boy.  The  old  man  holds  on  to 
mischief,  like  a  heavy  kedge  in  a  clay  bottom.  The  cold-water  folks 
began,  about  a  year  ago,  to  scatter  their  seed  in  the  village,  in  the 
shape  of  tracts,  and  tales,  and  newspapers.  Some  of  them  were 
thrown  at  your  father's  door,  and  at  the  door  of  old  Deacon  Hint, 
the  distiller.  There,  as  you  may  suppose,  the  seed  fell  in  stony 
places.  Your  father  was  in  a  great  rage,  and  swore  he  'd  shoot  the 
first  person,  that  left  another  of  their  rascally  publications  before  his 
door.  I  'm  afraid  it  will  be  a  long  while,  my  lad,  before  the  tem 
perance  folks  get  the  weather  gage  of  the  rum-sellers,  and  rum- 
drinkers  in  our  village.  They  have  had  a  miserable  seed  time,  and 
the  Devil  and  Deacon  Flint,  I  am  afraid,  will  have  the  best  of  the 
harvest." 

As  Tom  Johnson  was  to  sail,  in  about  a  week,  for  the  United 
States,  I  sent  by  him  a  few  lines  of  comfort  and  a  small  remittance 
fjr  my  mother.  As  I  have  already  stated,  they  never  reached  the 
place  of  their  destination.  The  Oranoke,  of  which  this  poor  fellow 
was  first  mate,  foundered  at  sea,  and  the  whole  crew  perished. 

After  our  arrival  at  Oporto,  the  crew  of  the  Swiftsure  were  dis 
charged  ;  and,  finding  a  favorable  chance,  I  shipped  for  Philadelphia, 
where  we  arrived,  after  an  extremely  short  and  prosperous  passage 


SEED  TIME  AND  HARVE&T.  17> 

-  -I  directed  my  course,  once  more,  towards  my  native  hamlet.  My 
feelings  were  of  the  most  painful  and  perplexing  character.  In 
accumulated  years,  and  even  in  the  little  property,  which  I  had 
gathered,  I  felt  conscious  of  something  like  a  power  and  influence  ; 
which,  by  God's  grace,  I  hoped  to  exert  for  the  protection  of  my 
mother.  Yet,  when  I  recollected  the  ungovernable  violence  of  my 
father's  temper,  under  the  stimulus  of  liquor,  I  almost  despaired  of 
success.  At  any  rate,  I  could  behold  the  face  of  her,  who  boie  me, 
and  receive  her  blessing  once  more  before  she  died. 

Having  sent  my  luggage  forward,  I  performed  a  considerable  part 
of  my  journey  on  foot.  I  had  arrived  in  the  village,  adjoining  our 
own.  I  paused,  for  an  instant,  to  look  at  the  barn,  in  which,  five 
years  before,  I  had  passed  a  most  miserable  night.  It  brough 
before  me,  with  a  painful  precision,  the  melancholy  record  of  the 
past.  Every  mils  of  my  lessening  way  abated  something  of  that 
confidence,  which  1  had  occasionally  cherished,  of  being  the  instru 
ment,  under  God,  of  bringing  happiness  again  into  the  dwelling  of 
my  wretched  parents. 

I  had  arrived  within  two  miless  of  the  little  river,  which  forms  one 
of  the  boundary  lines  of  our  village.  I  was  passing  a  little  grocery, 
or  tipplery,  and,  standing  at  the  door,  I  recognized  the  very  indi 
vidual,  who  formerly  kept  the  grog-shop  in  our  town,  and  from 
whom  my  father  had  purchased  his  rum,  for  many  years.  Although 
it  was  already  gray  twilight,  I  knew  him  immediately  ;  and,  how 
ever  painful  to  approach  a  person,  in  whom  I  could  not  fail  to  behold 
the  destroyer  of  my  father,  I  could  not  repress  my  earnest  desire  to 
learn  something  of  my  family.  I  accosted  him,  and  he  remembered 
me  at  once.  His  manners  were  those  of  a  surly  and  dissatisfied  man. 
In  reply  to  my  inquiries,  he  informed  me,  that  my  parents  and  my 
sister  were  alive,  and  added,  with  a  sneer,  that  my  father  had  set 
up  for  a  cold-water  man  ;  "  but,"  continued  he,  with  a  forced  and 
spiteful  laugh,  "  it  will  take  him  all  his  days,  I  guess,  to  put  off  the 
old  man  :  they  that  have  gotten  the  relish  of  my  rum,  are  not  so 
very  apt  to  change  it  for  cold  water."  —  Upon  further  inquiry,  I 
iscertained,  that  there  had  been  a  temperance  movement  in  our 
village  ;  and  that  the  seed,  as  poor  Tom  Johnson  said,  had  been 
scattered  there,  with  an  unsparing  hand.  I  also  gathered  the  infor 
mation  from  this  rum-seller,  that  the  selectmen  had  refused  to  appro 
bate  any  applicant  for  a  license  to  sell  ardent  spirit  in  our  village  ; 
and  that  he,  himself,  had  therefore  been  obliged  to  quit  his  old  stand, 
And  take  the  new  one,  which  he  now  occupied. 

I  turned  from  the  dram-seller's  door  and  proceeded  on  my  way. 
It  was  quite  dark  ;  but  the  road  was  familiar  to  my  feet.     It  afforded 
VOL.  i.  15* 


174  SEED  TIME  AND  HARVEST. 

me  unspeakable  pleasure  to  learn,  that  my  mother  and  sister  were 
alive  and  well.  But  I  was  exceedingly  perplexed,  by  the  rum- 
seller's  statement  in  relation  to  my  father.  Can  it  be  possible, 
thought  I,  that  he  has  become  a  cold-water  man  ?  How  true  is  the 
rum-seller's  remark,  that  few,  who  have  gotten  a  taste  of  his  rum, 
are  apt  to  change  it  for  cold  water !  For  more  than  twelve  years, 
my  father  had  been  an  intemperate  man  ;  and,  even  if  he  had  aban 
doned  ardent  spirit,  for  a  time,  how  little  reliance  could  be  placed 
upon  a  drunkard's  reformation !  Besides,  Tom  Johnson  had  ex 
pressly  stated,  that  my  father  had  been  exceedingly  hostile  to  the 
temperance  movement,  from  the  beginning. 

With  these  and  similar  reflections,  my  mind  continued  to  be 
occupied,  until  I  entered  our  village.  It  was  about  half  past  nine, 
when  I  came  within  a  few  rods  of  the  old  cottage.  A  light  was 
still  gleaming  forth  from  the  window.  I  drew  slowly  and  silently 
near  to  the  door.  —  I  thought  I  heard  a  voice.  I  listened  atten 
tively.  —  It  was  my  father's.  —  My  mother  appeared  not  to  reply  : 
such  was  her  constant  habit,  whenever,  under  the  influence  of  liquor, 
he  gave  a  loose  rein  to  his  tongue,  and  indulged  in  unkind  and  abu 
sive  language. — I  drew  still  nearer  —  and,  passing  softly  into  the 
entry,  I'listened  more  attentively,  at  the  inner  door. — Can  it  be 
possible !  thought  I.  —  He  was  engaged  in  prayer !  in  fervent  and 
pious  prayer.  — He  prayed,  with  a  trembling  voice,  for  the  restora 
tion  of  an  absent  son  !  — There  was  a  pause.  From  the  movement 
within,  it  was  evident  they  had  risen  from  their  knees.  —  I  gently 
raised  the  latch,  and  opened  the  door.  — The  father,  the  mother,  the 
brother,  the  sister,  were  locked  in  the  arms  of  one  another !  —  My 
regenerated  old  father  fell  once  more  upon  his  knees  ;  we  all  fol 
lowed  his  example  ;  and  before  a  word  of  congratulation  had  passed 
from  one  to  the  other,  he  poured  forth  such  a  touching  strain  of  thanks 
giving  and  praise  to  the  Giver  of  every  good  and  perfect  gift,  for 
my  safe  return,  as  would  have  melted  the  heart  of  the  most  obdurate 
offender .  It  came  directly  from  the  heart  of  a  truly  penitent  sinner, 
and  it  went  straightway  to  the  God  of  mercy.  —  I  gazed  upon  my 
poor  old  father.  It  seemed  like  the  moral  resurrection  of  one, 
already  dead  and  buried,  in  his  trespasses  and  sins.  — I  glanced  rap 
idly  about  me :  all  was  peace,  all  was  order ;  where  all  had  been 
strife  and  confusion  before.  The  rum-jug  no  longer  occupied  its 
accustomed  place  upon  the  table  :  —  the  expanded  volume  of  eternal 
life  was  there  in  its  stead ! 

1  gazed  with  inexpressible  joy,  upon  the  happy  faces  about  me ; 
my  father,  to  all  outward  appearance,  such  as  he  had  been  in  better 
days,  sitting  in  silence,  and  evidently  restraining  the  emotions  of  hia 


SEED  TIME  AND  HARVEST.  175 

soul ;  poor  Rachel  upon  my  knee,  her  features  bathed  with  happy 
tears  ;  and  my  dear,  old  mother  turning:  her  countenance,  full  of 
gratitude  and  love,  alternately  towards  Heaven  and  upon  a  long  gone 
child,  returned  at  last. 

Six  years  have  now  gone  by,  since  a  merciful  God  softened  the 
stubborn  soil  in  my  father's  heart.  The  seed  did  not  fall  altogether, 
as  Tom  Johnson  supposed,  upon  stony  places.  Some  of  them  have 
sprung  up,  as  in  our  own  highly-favored  heritage,  and  borne  fruit  a 
hundred  fold.  Let  us  thank  God,  then,  who  hath  enabled  us  abun 
dantly  to  gather  the  HARVEST  ;  for  peace  is  once  more  at  our  fire 
side  ;  the  wife  has  regained  her  husband,  and  ths  orphans  have 
found  their  father. 


AN  IRISH  HEART. 


My  respected  friend,  the  rererend  chaplain  of  the  Massachusetts  State's  Prison  «n1  formerly 
lh»piain  of  the  Stale's  Prison  of  Auburn,  in  the  State  of  New  York,  will  recognize,  in  the  material 
groundwork  of  the  following  title,  an  affecting  narrative,  which,  during  the  past  year,  he  did  me  ti.e 
favor  to  communicate. 

The  Kaignujri  from  Ireland  to  America  of  annually  increasing  numbers,  extremely  needv,  and,  in 
•uny  oajii,  lnn!:j-i  a.M'i  depraved,  has  become  a  subject  foi  ffrave  and  fearful  reflect. o,i.  St>>-<ila 
this  influx  o^nUr.u;,  37  a  j-*  7?ars  more,  in  the  same  ratio  of 'increase,  which  has  existed  for  a  ttw 
years  past ; — should  tb:s  impossi.^  subject  continue  to  be  thought  unworthy  or  unsusceptible  of 
legislative  provision,  and  should  iLi  materials  of  this  oppressive  influi  Continue  lo  be  the  same, — 
insteed  of  an  asylum,  our  country  may  be  appropriately  styled  the  common  sewer  of  Ireland.  That 
we  have  here  a  highly  respectable  t'Oily  of  Irish  citizens,  temperate,  industrious,  and  upright,  no  ma^ 
denies.  But  tiit  ccrnplexion  of  the  mass  is  very  diti'erenl.  A  very  great  majority  of  th»se,  who  ha'e 
been  driven  from  '.heir  own  shores,  by  sheer  necessity,  are  addicted  notoriously  lo  the  free  employmr  it 
of  spirituous  liquors.  They  quit  a  country,  where  whiskey  is  sold  at  6».  8d.  sterling  per  gallon,  F nd 
they  find  in  this  land  of  freedom  a  substitute  in  New  Bnsrl.ind  rum,  at  28  cents  per  gallon.  In  t'  fir 
own  country  a  week's  hard  labor  would  scarcely  enable  them  to  be  drunk  for  a  single  day -.  —  here  he 
wages  of  a  single  day  will  enable  them  to  be  drunk  for  the  remainder  of  the  week.  Recent  exami 
nations  have  sufficiently  developed  some  of  the  leadingcausesof  thatawful  pauperism,  which  exists  in 
Ireland.  One  or  two  examples  may  suffice.  A  single  distillery  in  Clonmel  pays  annually  60,0007. 
sterling  duty  to  the  crown.  The  sum  received  tor  duty,  at  a  single  excise  office  at  Wuterford, 
averages  1,0007.  sterling  per  week.  This  indeed  supports  the  government,  but  crushes  the  people, 
by  taxing,  instead  of  prohibiting,  the  means  of  misery  and  crime.  And  where  a  poor  spalpeenc&n 
neither  shake  off  the  hd  bit  of  intemperance,  nor  afford  any  longer  to  support  the  government,  his  last 
re  luge  is  the  "/TOO  contree." 


INNISF ALLEN  is^one  of  the  most  romantic  little  islands  in  the  world. 
It  lies  in  the  midst  of  Lough  Lean  —  the  beautiful  Lake  of  Killar- 
ney.  This  sheet  of  water  is  situated  in  the  County  of  Kerry  and 
Province  of  Munster,  and  consists  of  a  lower,  middle,  and  upper 
lake.  The  waters  of  the  lower  lake  encircle  the  island  of  Innis- 
fallen,  which  contains  about  eighteen  English  acres.  This  island  is 
remarkable  for  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  religious  house,  founded  by 
St.  Finian,  the  patron  saint  of  these  parts,  who  is  better  known  to 
the  Irish  however,  under  the  name  of  LOBBAR,  the  son  of  CONAIL. 
But  it  is  more  remarkable  by  far,  for  the  enchanting  wildness  of  its 
scenery.  The  lower  portion  of  Lough  Lean  lies  to  the  north,  and 
is  about  six  miles  in  length  ;  and  the  town  of  Killarney  rises  upon  its 
nort.iern  shore.  Its  northern  boundary  is  a  broken  line  of  hill  and 
interval,  affording,  here  and  there,  a  delightful  prospect  of  the  lake 
and  its  green  islands.  The  southern  shore  presents  a  range  of  lofty 
mountains,  covered  with  timber  of  the  largest  growth.  The  pro 
montory  of  Mucruss,  which  separates  the  upper  from  the  lower  lake, 
has  been  called  by  travellers  the  land  of  enchantment.  A  torrent, 
tumbling  and  tossing  among  the  dark  woods  and  beetling  rocks, 
rushes,  with  its  tribute  of  never  failing  waters,  to  the  lake  below. 
This  is  the  celebrated  O' Sullivan's  cascade  ;  and  in  front  of  the 


178  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

cataract,  but  at  such  a  distance,  as  to  be  fa*r  from  the  reach  of  its 
troubled  waters,  lies  the  island  of  Innisfallen. 

This  wild  and  sequestered  island,  which  Queen  Mab  herself  might 
have  been  proud  to  cjaim  as  the  spot  of  her  nativity,  was  the  birth 
place  of  a  poor  Irish  girl,  whose  name  was  Kathleen  McCready. 

In  another  corner  of  this  little  island,  under  the  thatched  roof  of  a 
miserable,  weather-beaten  shantee,  dwelt  Phelim  Mashee,  as  rougli 
an  Irishman,  as  ever  mounted  a  shamrock  or  swung  a  shillala.  It 
has  been  observed,  by  a  distinguished  writer,  that  an  Irishman  is 
any  man's  customer  in  a  row.  In  a  row  or  out  of  it,  little  were  the 
odds  to  Phelim  Mashee.  He  tenanted  a  scanty  acre  of  as  unpro 
ductive  land,  as  could  be  found  in  the  County  of  Kerry,  upon  a 
rocky  declivity,  descending  to  the  lake.  Here  old  Phelim  literally 
struggled  with  the  precipice  for  bread,  or  rather,  for  potatoes,  which, 
with  the  poor  Irish,  are  one  and  the  same  thing.  If  Heaven  had  not 
blessed  him  in  a  particular  manner,  in  his  basket  and  store,  he  had 
no  reason  to  complain  of  the  deficiency  of  children.  There  were 
Thomas,  and  Phelim,  and  Winifred,  and  Thaddy,  and  Owen,  and 
Dermot,  and  Mary,  and  Tooley,  and  five  or  six  smaller  children, 
whom  they  had  not  found  time  or  disposition  to  baptize.  These  bare 
legged  and  white-headed  spalpeens  might  be  seen,  from  morning  to 
night,  fighting  with  one  another,  or  dodging  among  the  bushes,  or 
fishing  upon  the  borders  of  the  lake.  Such  were  among  the  more 
respectable  of  all  their  occupations.  After  dark  the  McCreadies 
kept  close  watch  and  ward  over  their  potato  patch,  and  hencoop; 
the  shote  was  in  no  danger,  he  was  invariably  taken  in  for  the  night, 
to  lodge  with  the  family.  —  There  was  a  feud,  of  many  years'  stand 
ing,  between  the  Mashees  and  McCreadies.  I  never  could  obtain  a 
correct  account  of  it ;  but  I  believe  it  was  occasioned  by  a  disrespect 
ful  expression,  uttered  by  David  McCready  in  relation  to  the  ban 
ditti,  who  were  called  White  Boys,  and  who,  in  former  da}s,  greatly 
annoyed  the  counties  of  Limerick,  Cork,  and  Tipperary,  of  which 
fraternity,  the  father  of  Phelim  Mashee  had  been  a  distinguished 
member. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  origin  of  this  animosity,  it  was 
exceedingly  bitter  on  the  part  of  Mashee,  and  prolonged  for  many 
years.  David  and  Phelim  had  agreed  to  settle  it,  by  a  regular  light, 
upon  St.  Patrick's  day  in  the  morning.  But  Phelim  was  altogethet 
too  full  of  the  crathur  to  do  himself  justice  ;  and  David,  if  we  may 
be  allowed  to  use  his  own  expression,  gave  him  a  "  nate  leetle  teest 
o'the  hammer." 

From  this  time,  Phelim  Mashee  made  no  scruple  of  saying,  that 
David  McCready  was  "  na  jintilman"  having  taken  advantage  of 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  179 

his  unlucky  condition.  Old  Phelim  sought  his  revenge,  by  doing 
McCroady  all  the  mischief  in  his  power,  and,  for  this  object,  he  did 
not  hesitate  to  instruct  his  children  accordingly.  With  the  assis 
tance  of  these  urchins,  thus  faithfully  initiated,  in  the  ways  of 
wickedness,  by  an  able  preceptor,  it  is  not  surprising,  that,  notwith 
standing  their  utmost  vigilance,  the  McCreadies,  in  the  course  of 
several  years,  suffered  greatly,  in  their  humble  possessions.  A 
Auming  or  domestic  utensil,  left  abroad  during  the  night,  would  have 
been  as  certainly  transported  before  morning,  as  an  iron  marlinspike 
from  on  board  ship,  during  a  visit  from  the  natives  of  some  of  the 
Polynesian  Islands.  These  nocturnal  forays  were  not  altogether 
unprofitable  to  the  Mashees.  Whenever  any  of  the  little  freebooters 
brought  off  an  article,  which  could  be  readily  identified,  such  as  a 
rake  or  a  hoe,  it  was  carefully  concealed  by  old  Phelim,  till  he  had 
occasion  to  go  to  Killarney,  where  it  was  sold  or  exchanged  for 
whiskey.  But,  when  the  plunder  consisted  of  the  produce  of  the 
garden,  it  was  thrown  into  the  cellar  ;  for,  as  he  used  to  say,  "  it 
wud  puzzle  the  like  o'  St.  Patrick  to  pick  out  his  own  praties  ony- 
how." 

David  McCready  had  not  a  worse  heart  than  his  neighbors  ;  and 
as  for  Mary,  his  wife,  there  was  scarcely  a  kinder  soul  in  all  Mun- 
ster.  David,  like  the  great 'mass  of  Irishmen  in  humble  life,  had 
been  brought  up  to  look  upon  a  fight  as  a  frolic.  It  was  this  very 
David  McCready,  who,  being  a  little  the  worse,  or,  according  to  his 
own  code  of  sensations,  a  little  the  better  for  whiskey,  knocked 
down  a  gentleman,  in  Killarney,  without  the  least  provocation  ;  and, 
being  interrogated  by  the  magistrate,  as  to  his  motive  for  such  con 
duct,  towards  an  unoffending  man,  replied,  that  "  he  thought  not  a 
bit  the  worse  of  the  jintilman  than  he  did  afore,  but  that  he  stud  so 
right  an'  fair,  that  he  could  not,  for  the  life  o'  him,  help  giving  him 
a  facer."  But,  for  all  this,  David  McCready  was  a  kind-hearted 
Irishman. — "Think  of  it  hinny!"  said  David  to  his  wife,  as  he 
came  in  one  morning  early  from  his  garden,  with  an  angry  brow. — 
"  Come  till  a  body  what  is  the  matter  now  McCready?"  said  she. 
"  Claan  gane  !"  he  replied  with  increasing  anger.  "  And  for  pity's 
sake  what 's  happunt  McCready  ?"  said  she.  —  "  Not  a  man,  woman, 
nor  child  o'  'em  lift,"  cried  her  husband.  —  "  An  who  knows  what 
is  the  like  o'  that  y' are  spaking  aboot,  McCready?  don't  ye  be 
kaping  a  buddy  upon  the  tanters,  come,  out  wid  it  David."  —  "  Tut, 
an  can't  ye  understand  a  mon,  an  that  yourself  hinny,  when  he 
spakes  s>  >  plain  nor  the  like  o'  that ;  why  the  tarnips  are  claan  gane 
I  till  ye,  an  its  the  wark  o'  Satan  or  his  lawful  attarney,  Phelim 
Mashee,  bad  luck  to  him."  In  half  a  dozen  minutes,  McCready  had 


180  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

shadowed  forth  as  many  methods  of  revenue.  He  was  doubting 
whether  to  trate  him  to  a  greater  bating  than  he  had  given  him  on 
St.  Patrick's  day  in  the  morning,  or  to  give  him  a  good  sousing  in 
Lough  Lean.  —  "  Whoosh  now  !  David  McCready,  is  it  for  you  to 
talk  sich  clishmaclaver  as  the  like  o'  that1?"  said  Mary  to  her  hus 
band,  patting  him  upon  the  shoulder  with  a  good-natured  smile. 
"  Y'  are  not  sarUn,  David,  that  Phelim  it  was,  what  sarved  ye  sich 
a  maan  thing  as  that."  "  An  for  what  for  is  it  that  y'  are  iver  sa 
riddy,  Mary,  to  gi'  bail  for  the  ould  villin  o'  a  thaaf  as  he  is,  that 
Phelim  Mashee?  maybe,  ye  '11  fancy  that  all  the  tarnips  have  walked 
ower  to  the  ould  nagur's  cillar  o'  their  own  frae  wull."  "  Wall, 
David  McCready,  an  if  Phelim  has  been  guilty  of  sich  maanness,  he 
wull  ha'  the  sin  to  answer  for  i'  the  dee,  and  he  has  his  rint  to  pay 
in  this  warld,  whether  or  no,  ao  that  comes  tough  enough  to  a  poor 
parson  onyhow  ;  and,  as  for  the  tarnips,  like  enough  among  sich  a 
rigimint  o'  childher,  there  's  na  more  nor  two  or  thraa  a  pace.  Now 
jist  think  o'  it  McCready,  an  we  ha'  none  to  faad  an  clothe  but 
Kathleen."  — "  Bad  luck  to  him  !"  such  were,  upon  this  and  most 
other  occasions,  the  last  words  of  McCready,  when  speaking  of 
Phelim  Mashee.  But,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  fact,  that  David 
never  proceeded  to  any  action  against  his  unruly  neighbor,  in  a 
corresponding  spirit,  we  may  fairly  set  them  down  as  words  of 
course,  for  whose  utterance  the  tongue  is  chiefly  responsible,  and 
which  come  not  from  the  heart.  Years  rolled  away  :  David 
McCready  and  Phelim  Mashee  were  getting  to  be  grayer,  and  their 
children  were  almost  men  and  women.  It  was  about  seven  years 
before,  that  David  and  his  wife  had  become  protestants.  I  never 
understood,  that  they  were  as  much  benefited  by  the  change  as 
could  have  been  desired  ;  but,  among  the  consequences  of  their 
domestic  reformation,  a  Bible  had  found  its  way  into  the  dwelling  of 
David  McCready  ;  and  Kathleen,  who  had  been  taught  to  read,  was 
so  frequently  found  by  her  father  and  mother,  with  the  volume  in 
her  hands,  that  it  went,  in  the  family,  by  the  title  of  Kathleen's  own 
book.  As  for  old  Phelim  Mashee,  he  was  of  no  particular  religion. 
When  he  had  laid  up  a  good  stock  of  sins  he,  now  and  then,  went 
over  to  Killarney,  of  a  Sabbath  morning,  and  got  telaaf  by  confes 
sing  them  out  o'  the  way,  as  he  used  to  express  it,  and  sealed  up 
>iis  soul  with  a  wafer  ;  and  returned,  quite  invigorated,  for  the  pei- 
petration  of  new  offences. 

The  most  daring  and  adroit  of  all  Phelim's  troop  of  marauders 
was  Thaddy,  his  third  son.  He  was  now  a  very  comely  lad  of 
about  seventeen  years  of  age.  For  some  time  however,  he  had 
been  remarkably  unsuccessful.  Old  Phelim,  who  was  less  able  to 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  181 

help  himself  to  his  neighbor's  goods  than  in  former  years,  was 
unsparing  in  his  imprecations  upon  Thaddy,  conceiving  him  to  be 
blameworthy,  in  proportion  to  his  well  known  talent  for  all  sorts  of 
petty  thievery,  by  day  and  by  night.  He  specially  berated  him  for 
not  stealing  McCready's  ducks,  which  were  often  abroad,  on  the  water 
or  the  land.  Thaddy,  having  been  trained  to  steal  and  lie,  tried  his 
skill  in  the  latter  department,  upon  his  venerable  preceptor.  He 
told  his  father,  that  he  had  gone  several  times  to  the  pen,  where  they 
were  shut  up,  and  that  he  had  seen  Kathleen  McCready  watching 
them  with  a  light,  and  that,  of  course,  it  was  of  no  use  "  to  be 
after  staaling  them  ducks  ony  moor." 

In  all  this  there  was  just  enough  of  truth  for  the  construction  of 
a  plausible  falsehood.  He  had  gone  about  a  month  before,  for  the 
purpose  of  stealing  McCready's  ducks ;  and  he  had  seen  Kathleen 
with  the  light  as  he  asserted  ;  but  the  adventure  had  a  very  serious 
termination,  the  knowledge  of  which  he  thought  proper  to  withhold 
from  his  father,  and  which  it  is  high  time  for  us  to  disclose.  Thad 
dy  Mashee,  in  the  course  of  his  furtive  operations,  had  frequently 
approached  near  enough  to  Kathleen  McCready,  to  satisfy  himself, 
if  we  may  use  his  own  words,  when  speaking  of  her  among  his 
brothers  and  sisters,  that  she  was  "  as  nate  nor  a  primrose."  But 
the  relation  of  their  respective  families  prevented  even  a  speaking  ac 
quaintance.  Upon  the  occasion,  to  which  we  have  referred,  Thaddy, 
having  prepared  a  bag  of  sufficient  size  to  hold  his  plunder,  cautiously 
approached  the  scene  of  action,  just  as  the  sound  came  sweeping 
over  the  lake  from  the  bells  of  Killarney,  which  were  then  ringing 
nine.  He  reconnoitered  the  poultry  yard,  and  found  the  ducks  in 
their  pen.  At  that  moment  he  heard  a  voice,  and,  creeping  on  his 
hands  and  knees  towards  the  cottage,  he  perceived  Kathleen,  with 
her  candle  and  her  book,  sitting  by  the  side  of  a  table,  near  an  open 
window,  reading  aloud.  No  person  was  in  the  apartment  but  her 
self.  Her  father  and  mother  had  gone  to  bed,  after  a  hard  day's 
work.  Thaddy  had  never  enjoyed  so  good  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
Kathleen  in  his  whole  life,  and  he  had  never  heard  the  sound  of  her 
voice  till  then.  For  a  moment  he  was  completely  subdued  by  the 
sweetness  of  its  tones.  He  continued  to  lie  flat  upon  the  grass, 
stretching  up  his  head,  like  a  turtle  from  its  shell,  to  get  a  fairer 
view.  Kathleen  suddenly  paused,  and  turned  her  face  towards  the 
window.  It  was  accidental  however,  and  Thaddy,  upon  whose 
brow  the  perspiration  had  already  started,  recovered  his  composure, 
when  he  saw  her  snuff  the  candle  and  turn  over  the  leaf.  She  was 
reading  a  chapter  of  the  Apostle,  which  contains  the  decalogue. 
As  she  recommenced,  her  head  was  again  turned  towards  the  win- 

VOL.  i.  16 


182  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

dow.  Thaddy  fancied  that  Kathleen  looked  him  directly  in  the  eye. 
But  what  was  his  amazement,  when  she  uttered  the  words,  "  Thou 
shall  not  steal!"  "The  Lard  bliss  ye,  maastress  Kathleen,"  said 
poor  Thaddy,  "  hov/  in  the  name  o'  nathur  cud  ye  know  that  I  was 
after  the  ducks?"  —  "  And  who  are  you?"  inquired  Kathleen. with 
much  less  of  agitation  in  her  manner,  than  such  a  surprise  might  be 
thought  likely  to  occasion.  "  Who  are  you?"  she  inquired  again 
"  It 's  myself,"  answered  Thaddy  in  a  suppressed  voice.  Kath 
leen  held  the  light  forward  and  instantly  recognized  her  visitor, 
"  And  cud  ye  ha'  sa  bad  a  heart,  to  be  after  staaling  my  poor  ducks, 
Thaddy  Mashee?"  said  Kathleen.  "I  didn't  maan  to  staal  the 
ducks,"  answered  Thaddy,  "now  I  knows  they  were  your  own 
bards,  and  I  wud  n't  sa  much1  as  hart  a  hair  o'  their  heads,  an  I  had 
known  it  afore."  —  "  Ah,  Thaddy  Mashee,"  said  Kathleen,  "  don't 
ye  be  after  lying  aboot  it,  for  the  faar  o'  God.  Can  ye  raad,  Thad 
dy  ?  may  be,  and  ye  can  raad,  I  wud  lind  ye  my  good  book  haar,  and 
ye  might  be  lid  away  from  your  bad  coorses,  and  turn  protestant, 
Thaddy."  —  "I  cannot  raad  a  word  o'  it  all,"  replied  Thaddy, 
hanging  his  head,  "but  I  thinks  I  wud  be  after  turning  a'maist 
onything  to  plase  yourself,  Kathleen  McCready." 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  repeat  any  more  of  the  conversation 
between  Thaddy  and  Kathleen.  The  account  may  be  summarily 
stated  ;  Kathleen  had  saved  her  ducks — Thaddy  had  lost  his  heart ; 
and,  if  there  be  truth  in  the  proverb,  that  exchange  is  no  robbery, 
there  was  something  in  the  feelings,  with  which  this  poor  Irish  girl 
laid  her  head,  that  night,  upon  her  pillow,  which  went  not  a  little 
way  to  balance  the  account. 

From  that  hour  Thaddy  Mashee  found  no  more  agreeable  employ 
ment,  than  in  rendering  some  kind  office  to  Kathleen.  The  duck 
pen  was  often  stored,  over  night,  by  some  unknown  person,  with 
fish,  which  abounded  in  the  lake ;  and,  by  the  same  invisible  hand, 
bunches  of  primroses  were  occasionly  thrown  in  at  the  window. 
David  McCready  had,  for  some  time,  rejoiced  in  that  apparent  secu 
rity,  which  prevailed  in  his  humble  domain ;  and,  now  and  then, 
some  long  lost  article  of  property  appeared  mysteriously  in  its  orig 
inal  position. 

The  death  of  old  Phelim  Mashee,  which  occurred  about  a  yeai 
from  this  period,  produced  an  immediate  dispersion  of  the  remain 
ing  members  of  his  family ;  Thomas  had  already  fallen  from  a  pre 
cipice  and  broken  his  neck ;  Winifred  had  run  away  with  a  wild 
chap  from  Kilkenny  ;  and  Owen  was  drowned  in  the  lake.  Upon  the 
death  of  old  Phelim,  the  poor-house  of  Killarney  received  its  tribute. 
Tooley  went  to  sea.  Thaddy  alone  remained  in  Innisfallen. — 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  183 

About  three  months  before  his  father's  death,  he  had  so  effectually 
wrought  upon  the  heart  of  old  David  McCready,  by  his  good 
behavior,  that  he  was  received  into  the  family  as  an  assistant,  on 
the  day  after  the  funeral.  David  went  to  the  funeral  of  old  Phelim 
himself;  and,  when  any  allusion  was  made  to  the  old  man's  of 
fences,  he  always  interposed  with  "  sure  it 's  all  to  be  sittled  i'  the 
dee:  jist  lit  ould  Mashee  rist  aisy  in  his  shell,  till  he's  called  to 
answer  for  it  all." 

Thiddy  gave  entire  satisfaction  to  his  employer.  We  cannot 
assert,  that  he  grew  daily  in  favor  with  God  and  man  ;  but  he  cer 
tainly  ohtained  favor  in  the  eyes  of  Kathleen  McCready.  After  a 
long  day  of  toil,  he  seldom  failed  to  ask  her  to  "  spake  a  few  good 
wards  out  o'  the  book."  And  as  she  was  very  desirous  of  converting 
the  poor  lad,  she  was  ever  ready  to  read  a  chapter  or  two,  before 
they  separated  for  the  night.  Plow  effectually  she  advanced  the 
cause  of  protestantism  may  be  inferred  from  Thaddy's  sensible 
remarks,  which  were  always  to  the  point :  "  An  isn't  it  yourself 
now,  Kathleen  McCready,  that  has  the  voice  o'  an  angel! — It's 
svaatly  rid,  Miss  Kathleen  !  —  And  had  n't  I  rather  sit  haar  wid  ye, 
o'  a  bright  night  as  it  is,  an  haar  ye  raad  the  good  book,  nor  to  haar 
ould  Father  McCloskey  say  mass,  through  his  nouse,  for  a  hull 
waak,  or  the  like  o'  that?" 

For  the  convenience  of  both  sexes,  it  has  been  reduced  into  the 
form  of  a  portable  proverb,  that  love  doth  never  stand  still.  This 
is  never  more  true,  than  when  a  comely  young  Irishman  is  the  chief 
engineer.  Thaddy  and  Kathleen  were  not  many  months  engaged 
in  their  joint  study  of  theology,  before  they  had  settled  a  knotty 
point  of  infinite  importance,  in  connection  with  their  temporal  wel 
fare.  This  portion  of  their  existence,  though  in  all  probability,  by 
far  the  most  happy  period  of  their  lives,  cannot  be  equally  interest 
ing  to  the  reader,  in  all  its  minute  and  comparatively  insignificant 
detail.  Thaddy  and  Kathleen  were  equally  in  love  with  each  other. 
She  had  given  him  a  lock  of  her  hair;  he  had  presented  her  with  a 
silver  ring,  surmounted  with  two  hearts  of  red  glass,  which  he  had 
purchased  at  Killarney ;  and  they  had  solemnly  vowed  with  all  due 
tonuality  to  be  man  and  wife,  when  Thaddy  should  be  twenty-one. 
All  these  matters  having  been  irrevocably  settled,  Kathleen  informed 
her  parents,  that  Thaddy  Mashee  had  made  her  a  proposal  of  mar 
riage  ;  and,  as  in  duty  bound,  requested  their  counsel  and  advice. 
The  old  folks  took  the  whole  matter  as  gravely  into  their  consider 
ation,  as  though  their  joint  veto  would  have  had  any  serious  influ 
ence  in  breaking  off  the  match.  After  grave  reflection,  they  gave 
their  consent,  provided  Thaddy  continued  to  be  as  clever  a  lad,  until 
.e  should  be  twenty-one. 


184  AN  IRISH  HEART 

The  scattered  seed,  buried  deeply  in  the  earth,  beyond  the  influ 
ence  of  the  sunbeam,  and  which  has  slumbered  long  and  unprofitably 
there ;  when  brought  nearer  to  the  surface,  by  some  casual  disturb 
ance  of  the  soil,  though  after  years  of  indolence,  may  yet  vegetate, 
and  put  forth  its  stalk,  and  leaves,  and  flowers.  And  this  fortune  is 
as  likely  to  befall  the  bramble  as  the  rose.  How  similar  is  this  to 
that  process  of  vegetation,  which  not  unfrequently  takes  place  in 
the  human  heart.  Principles,  good  and  evil,  which  have  been  there 
deeply  implanted  in  our  early  days,  overgrown  and  smothered,  as  it 
were,  by  thoughts  and  cares,  incident  to  some  new  direction,  which 
circumstances  have  given  to  our  course  of  life,  may  continue,  in  a 
state  of  torpitude,-  not  only  for  years,  but  in  some  extraordinary 
cases,  until  life's  decline.  As  gentle  showers  and  a  genial  atmos 
phere  call  forth  the  green  shoot  from  the  ground,  those  early  prin 
ciples  may  also  be  quickened  into  action,  by  a  peculiar  and  apposite 
combination  of  events.  When  the  grace  of  God  begins  to  fall,  like 
the  soft  dews  of  Hermon,  upon  the  hard  heart  of  some  penitent 
offender,  it  is  no  uncommon  occurrence,  for  the  first  sensible  im 
pressions  of  good,  the  first  profitable  compunctions  for  sin  to  be 
intimately  and  delightfully  blended  with  inexpressibly  tender  recol 
lections  of  our  childhood;  —  of  the  morning  walks  and  evening 
counsels  of  some  pious  father,  or  mother  ;  —  of  those  gatherings 
around  the  family  altar,  with  which  the  day  began  and  ended.  — 
This  pleasing  picture  may  be  painfully  reversed.  A  strong  desire 
for  some  temporal  advantage,  in  the  gift  of  one,  who  is  not  likely  to 
bestow  it  unworthily,  may  stimulate  a  sinner  to  such  extraordinary 
exertions,  that  he  will  be  sometimes  seen  to  constrain  his  outer  man 
into  the  semblance  of  a  saint.  Long  after  the  possession  of  such 
earthly  good,  he  may  continue  to  hold  his  propensities  to  evil 
under  a  very  creditable  measure  of  restraint.  Such  restraint  may 
become  so  familiar,  so  easy,  that  he  may  almost  flatter  himself  into 
a  belief  that  his  evil  nature  has  been  effectually  subdued.  This 
condition  of  things  will  too  often  prove,  at  last,  to  have  been  owin£- 
to  the  absence  of  temptation  alone.  And  when,  at  length,  he 
becomes  a  runagate,  fully  developed,  there  may  be  some,  whose 
recollections  may  enable  them  readily  to  associate  a  vicious  old  age 
with  a  profligate  boyhood.  But  it  is  not  always  thus. — 

Kathleen  McCready  never  did  anything  by  halves.  She  was 
thoroughly  in  love  with  Thaddy  Mashee ;  —  she  gave  him  her  heart 
—  her  whole  heart,  without  any  reservation  whatever  Kathleen 
was  no  philosophical  calculator  of  cause  and  effect.  She  never 
took  into  the  account  two  important  considerations,  either  of  which 
is  of  sufficient  consequence  to  teach  anv  voung  woman  to  pause; 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  18 

Thaddy  was  still  abominably  ignorant,  and,  until  very  lately,  had 
been  exceedingly  vicious.  He  was  devoted  however  to  Kath 
leen  ;  and,  if  she  had  been  an  empress,  she  would  cheerfully  have 
given  him  her  sceptre  for  a  shillala.  This  poor  Irish  girl  was  pos 
sessed  of  a  good  natural  understanding,  but  her  heart  set  no  limit  to 
its  loving,  when  it  had  fairly  begun  to  love  at  all.  Evil  report  and 
good  report,  as  connected  with  the  object  of  her  affection,  varied  not 
the  measure  of  that  affection  the  tithe  of  a  hair.  All  this  may 
appear  superlatively  ridiculous  to  those,  who  marry  for  money  and 
love  by  rule.  But,  beside  her  old  father  and  mother,  Kathleen 
McCready  had  no  other  object  of  deep  interest  upon  earth,  than 
Thaddy  Mashee.  She  could  not  distribute  the  mass  of  her  love 
into  parcels,  and  bestow  part  upon  her  carriage,  and  part  upon  her 
fine  clothes,  and  part  upon  her  furniture,  and  give  her  lover  the 
small  balance  in  hand.  She  did  not  love  him,  because  he  adminis 
tered  to  her  passion  for  finery  and  pleasure,  but  she  loved  him,  all  for 
himself,  and,  simply  because  he  was  Thaddy  Mashee.  Hers  indeed 
;vas  a  first,  young  love.  The  soil  of  her  heart  had  been  ever  unbro 
ken  till  then.  Larry  O'Rourk,  to  be  sure,  had  scraped  round  her,  a 
year  before,  when  she  was  passing  a  week  or  two  with  a  friend  at 
Killarney.  He  was  desperately  in  love  with  Kathleen.  But  Larry 
was  an  unalterable  catholic,  and  Kathleen  was  determined  to  wed 
none  but  a  protestant.  Besides,  a  part  of  Larry's  religion  consisted 
in  praying  to  saints  and  worshipping  carved  images,  and  idols, 
which  Kathleen  held  to  be  preposterous  abominations.  He  was 
particularly  scrupulous,  in  paying  his  devotions  to  one  idol,  in  par 
ticular,  under  the  semblance  of  a  stone  jug. 

Thaddy  Mashee  had  attained  the  age  of  twenty-one  years,  and 
had  passed  through  the  interval  of  probation,  from  the  day  of  his 
engagement  with  Kathleen,  to  the  period  of  his  majority,  to  the 
entire  satisfaction  of  her  parents. — Kathleen  McCready,  by  unre 
mitting  diligence  in  reading  the  Scriptures,  had  acquired  no  incon 
siderable  knowledge  of  their  invaluable  contents.  She  had  a  faith 
ful  and  truly  humble  reliance  upon  God's  promises  ;  and  her  simple 
and  earnest  supplications  for  her  father  and  mother,  for  Thaddy  and 
herself,  if  less  remarkable  for  long  words,  and  all  the  formal  techni 
calities  of  prayer,  were  not  the  less  likely  on  this  account,  to  ascend, 
unincumbered,  to  Heaven.  Of  Thaddy's  progress  in  religion  we 
can  say  but  little.  He  was  certainly  desirous  of  acting  in  conform 
ity  with  the  earnest  wishes  of  Kathleen  ;  and,  as  she  was  not  dis 
posed  to  throw  any  insurmountable  obstacle  in  the  way  of  their 
union,  she,  most  probably,  did  not  examine  the  evidences  of  his  con 
version  from  Romanism  with  all  the  rigid  scrupulosity  of  an  impar 

VOL.  i.  16* 


186  AN  IEISH  HEAKt 

tial  father  of  the  church.  He  undoubtedly  believed  himself  to  be  a 
better  protestant,  than  he  had  ever  been  a  catholic  ;  and  the  doctors 
of  the  Sorbonne  would  have  conceded  as  much.  Kathleen  was  untir 
ing  in  her  exertions  to  make  him  acquainted  with  the  simple  truths 
of  religion.  He  appeared  to  have  a  correct  idea  of  the  increased 
difficulty  of  instructing  one,  who  had  grown  up,  for  twenty  years, 
in  ignorance  and  irreligion.  "  It 's  aisier  to  make  a  straight  stick, " 
he  would  sometimes  say,  when  her  patience  had  been  severely  tried, 
by  his  inaptitude,  "  than  to  mind  sich  a  crooked  one,  Kathleen." 

One  morning  he  came  down,  with  a  smiling  countenance,  fully 
satisfied,  that  he  had  become  a  good  protestant  during  the  night. 
"  Och !  Thaddy,  what  can  yemaan?"  said  Kathleen,  "y'ave  oin 
draining,  sure."  "  Indaad,  and  I  have,  Kathleen,"  replied  Thaddy. 
"  Jist  hark  a  bit,  and  I  '11  spake  it  to  ye,  daary.  I  thought  o'  it, 
the  dee,  and  all  afore  night,  ye  see,  if  I  cud  hit  upon  a  plan  to  know 
for  sartin,  an  I  was  baing  raaly  a  protester  nor  the  tother.  So  I  fill 
aslaap  and  it 's  sure,  I  was  wide  awak,  for  I  ricollected  as  wall  as  it 
was  yourself,  Kathleen.  And  so  I  drained  o'  a  plan,  whin  1  was 
awak,  to  find  out  the  sacret,  after  I  was  sound  aslaap,  as  I  was."  — 
"Whoosh!  daar  Thaddy  now,"  said  Kathleen,  "I  wud  not  be 
after  minding  a  draam,  or  the  like  o'  that  neither;  but"  — "  List 
to  it  hinny,  and  ye  '11  say  yourself,  there  niver  was  the  like  o'  it,  for 
a  draam  in  the  warld.  So  ye  see,  whin  I  wak'd  up,  as  I  did,  after 
I  had  been  aslaap,  mind  ye,  I  did  the  thing  jist  as  it  happunt  i'  the 
draam.  I  opunt  the  windy,  and  pit  a  bit  o'  paper  on  the  tap  o'  it, 
that  is,  on  the  buttum,  ye  know.  So  says  I  to  myself,  for  there 
was  nobody  else  to  spake  to, — Thaddy,  says  I,  if  y'are  a  poor 
misguided  catholic,  the  bit  o'  paper  wull  blow  out,  but  if  y'  are  a 
raal  protester  in  your  heart,  thin  sure  the  bit  o'  paper  wull  blow 
in."  —  "And  which  way  did  the  bit  o'  paper  blow,  Thaddy?" 
inquired  Kathleen.  "  Why  now,"  answered  Thaddy,  "  if  ye  '11 
belaave  the  thing,  it  stud  jist  as  still,  hinny,  as  a  cauld  praty."  — 
"  And  for  why  thin  Thaddy,  did  ye  think  ye  was  not  a  catholic  after 
all  ?"  said  Kathleen.  "  And  don't  ye  saa  it,"  he  replied,  "  as  claar 
as  the  water  in  Lough  Lean,  and  nothing  can  be  clarer  nor  that,  the 
Lard  lift  me  to  be  jist  which  I  plased ;  and  is  n't  it  I,  that  plases  to  be 
a  raal  protestei,  Thaddy  Mashee?"  Kathleen,  of  course,  was  not 
fully  persuaded  of  Thaddy 's  conversion,  by  such  an  argument  as 
this.  She  told  him  that  he  must  pray  to  God  for  light  and  knowl 
edge,  and  listen  to  the  Scriptures.  Nevertheless,  she  had  such 
confidence  in  Thaddy's  desire  to  be  a  good  protestant,  that  sho  con 
sented  to  appoint  a  day  for  their  wedding.  The  ceremony  was  per 
formed  by  a  protestant  clergyman  from  Killarney,  and  it  may  not  b« 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  187 

unworthy  of  remark,  that  the  wedding  gown  was  a  present  from 
Larry  O  Rourk,  who  was  at  the  wedding,  and  confessed  afterwards, 
that  he  had  beer.  at  fifty  weddings,  and  never  went  away  sober  from 
any  one  of  them  before.  The  tumultuous  character  of  his  feelings, 
upon  this  occasion,  forced  the  poor  fellow  to  laugh  and  cry  from  the 
beginning  of  the  ceremony  to  the  end  of  it.  Four  or  five  days  before 
the  occurrence,  Larry  came  very  unexpectedly  to  McCready's  cot 
tage,  with  a  small  bundle  in  his  hand,  and  desired  to  see  Kathleen. 
She  was  at  first  not  a  little  embarrassed,  by  the  presence  of  such  an 
unusual  visitor.  "  Ye  '11  be  after  thinking  it 's  a  dale  o'  impudence 
in  me  to  visit  ye  jist  now,"  said  Larry,  "  but  it 's  no  sa  ill  mint  ony 
v/ay.  I  've  not  come  to  spake  o'  the  ould  mather  nather,  Mistress 
Kathleen,  at  all,  at  all.  I  know  it 's  all  sittled  long  afore,  in  favor 
o1  Thaddy  Mashee,  good  luck  to  him  onyhow.  An  ye  had  married 
a  wealthy  lubber,  and  all  for  the  shiners,  I  cud  not  ha1  tuk  the 
mather  sa  aisy,  Kathleen ;  and  it  wor  not  right  daling  at  all  an  I 
had  not  dressed  him  a  shillala,  and  gin  him  a  teest  o'  the  thing 
acrass  the  chaak  o'  the  nagur.  But  Thaddy 's  a  poor  lad  like 
myself,  and  it 's  all  for  the  love  o'  the  ragged  spalpeen  that  he  is,  that 
he  v/as,  it  is  that  I  maan,  that  y' are  going  to  be  married.  —  My 
sister  Biddy  O'Rourk  was  it,  ye  know,  she  did  n't  marry  Bob  Dough 
erty,  and  it  was  na  fault  o'  hers  nather,  and  no  impachement  o' 
Bob's  intigrity  for  all  that.  She  died,  the  poor  crathur,  before  the 
day  o'  her  widding  or  thereabouts.  We  used  to  say  that  two  paas 
in  a  pud,  were  niver  alike,  nor  Biddy  and  you  were  not,  i'  the  bilt 
and  shape  o'  ye  both.  I  bought  her  a  widding  gownd,  and  she  niver 
wore  it  ye  know,  jist  for  the  raison  I  tould  ye.  Now  ye  '11  wear 
it  yourself,  I  guess,  not  to  plase  me  to  be  sure,  but  to  plase  the 
poor  girl,  that 's  dead  and  gane,  for  she  iver  spake  a  civil  ward 
o'  ye,  Kathleen."  Larry  threw  down  the  bundle,  and,  wiping  his 
eyes  with  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  strode  away,  as  fast  as  his  legs 
could  carry  him,  and  without  waiting  for  a  word  of  reply  from  Kath 
leen. 

Kathleen's  perplexity  at  Larry's  present  was  speedily  abated. 
"  Good  luck  to  ye  Katty,"  sai4  her  mother,  "  an  it 's  you  that  will 
waar  the  thing  sure,  at  your  widding,  avourneen,  becase  an  ye 
did  n't,  't  wud  be  a  didly  offince,  an  there  's  not  an  O'Rourk  that  wud 
na  be  after  faaling  it  to  the  back  bun.  It 's  a  nate  thing  o'  Larry 
onyhow.  He  "s  a  gin'rous  crathur,  and  an  illegant  lad  he  was, 
afore  he  tuk  to  sucking  like  a  laach  at  the  mountain  dew.  Ye  '11 
pit.  it  on  your  back  for  sartin,  at  the  widding  ;  an,  after  y'  are  buck 
led  by  the  praast,  and  Thaddy  has  taken  the  first  kiss,  it  wud  be  na 
moor  nor  ceevil  to  let  Larry  (T  Rounk  ha'  the  next  one,  if  he  's  not 
oridacent  for  the  liquor,  mind  ye." 


188  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

It  was  about  a  fortnight,  after  the  wedding  that  Thaddy  had  occa 
sion  to  go  over  to  Killarney.  It  was  evident  on  his  retuin,  by  the 
agitation,  which  he  exhibited,  that  he  had  met  with  some  iwipleasant 
adventure.  The  anxiety  upon  his  countenance  did  not  escape  the 
notice  of  Kathleen,  who  interrogated  him,  in  relation  to  the  cause 
of  it.  "  Why,  it 's  all  for  your  own  silf,  hinny,  that  my  blood  was 
up,  before  ye  cud  wink  your  swate  eyes  entirely,  it  was.  They 
made  crooked  faces,  ye  saa,  an  call'd  ye  hard  names,  an  if  I  had  a 
bit  o'  rowan  tree,  for  the  want  o'  a  raal  shillala,  I  'd  a  gin  'em  their 
gruel,  wud  n't  I  ?"  —  "  Hut !  Thaddy,  an  who,  in  the  name  o*  the 
wicked  warld,  was  it  that  did  it,  an  what  was  it  they  did,  when  it 
was  done?"  cried  Kathleen.  —  "Why  jist  this  it  was,"  replied 
Thaddy,  "  whin  I  was  ower  at  Killarney,  as  I  was  in  no  petiklar 
hurry,  having  nothing  in  the  warld  to  do  jist  thin,  I  stud  as  pace- 
able  as  a  shaap,  looking  at  the  harses,  fine  bastes  were  they,  which 
Lord  Denmore  was  a  claaning  down,  naar  his  Lordship's  stables, 
Tom  McCormick  his  groom,  it  was  that  claan'd  'em ;  whin  I  haard 
a  buddy  ower  the  way,  calling  *  Thaddy  Mashee,'  that's  myself 
mind  ye.  So  I  looks  round,  an  there  was  Father  Brian  O'Balliguts 
and  Tony  Mesarvy,  the  curate.  So  I  tuk  aff  my  cap,  an  *  What 's 
your  Riverence's  wull  ?'  saad  I,  as  I  wint  acrass.  l  What 's  the  sin 
ye  have  been  committing,  ye  spalpeen  ?'  says  Father  Brian,  jist  thase 
was  his  wards.  I  thought,  for  the  sowl  o'  me,  he  was  a  bit  frolick- 
some,  as  he,  sometimes  is,  at  a  wake  or  a  birrel,  when  the  porther 
is  all  right.  So  I  saad  to  him,  '  Nathing,  your  Riverence  to  mintion, 
unliss  it  be  a  sin  to  waste  a  braaf  minnit  in  looking  at  a  fine  baste.' 
—  *  Y'are  a  greater  baste  yourself,'  saad  he  as  quick  as  a  flash  o' 
powther  ;  an  I  thin  conjicter'd  by  thare  crooked  faces,  that  he  an  the 
curate  was  in  arnest.  '  V  ave  married  a  vile  hiretic,'  saad  he,  '  an 
ye  '11  have  the  comfort  o'  ache  ather's  society  longer  nor  ye  '11  wush 
for,  Ise  warrant,  for  ye '11  be  damned  etarnally  togither.'  —  'Be 
side,'  said  the  curate,  '  y' are  not  married  nather  whither  or  no,  for 
all  that,  ye  monster  as  ye  are,  for  the  cirimony  was  perfarmed  by  a 
hiretic  praast,  which  is  no  praast  at  all,  nohow,  an  agin  the  law  it 
is.'  — '  You  a  catholic !'  cried  Father  Balliguts,  '  your  sowl  will  be 
roasted  ye  vagabone,  why  ye  haan't  come  to  confission  for  a  yaar 
nor  more.'  —  So  they  rin  on,  one  taking  up  the  ward,  whin  the 
tother  pit  it  down.  I  might  as  wall  tried  to  clap  my  rid  rag  betune 
the  clitter  clatter  jaws  o'  a  nail  maker  ingin,  as  to  squaze  in  a  ward 
betune  Father  Brian  an  the  curate.  At  last  saad  one  nor  the  tother 
an  for  the  botheration  o'  it,  it  isn't  me  that  can  till  which  o'  'em  it 
was,  '  What  have  ye  got  to  say  for  yourself  ye  varmint?'  sed  ne.  -  - 
My  blood  was  a  little  up,  mind  ye,  jist  a  day  or  two  after  my  wid- 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  189 

ding ;  so  says  I,  *  Father  Brian  Balliguts,  I  owe  ye  not  a  luck  penny 
the  Lard  he  praised,  an  I  'd  have  ye  take  notish,  that  Ise  been  a  raa. 
protester  for  eight  months  at  laast ;  an,  as  for  baing  married  or  no, 
Mr.  Mesarvy,  which  y'  ave  had  the  manners  to  spake  o'  without 
ony  dacency  at  all,  at  all,  I  '11  jist  mintion  it  in  your  Riverence's 
aar,  that  it 's  ginrally  helaaved  y'  are  not  married  yourself  to  Polly 
Mahony,  nor  na  other,  not  maaning  to  be  petiklar  onyhow.' 
Catholic  praast  as  he  was,  daap  scarlet  rid  was  it,  that  he  colored 
jist  thin,  to  that  end  o'  his  aar,  that  belanged  to  the  pillory  foor 
yaars  ago,  nor  moor,  whin  he  scampered  away  along  wi'  Widdy 
1'innigan's  daughter,  an  broke  the  ould  leddy's  heart  into  foorty 
paces.  He  was  not  a  praast  thin,  to  be  sure,  but  laming  to  be 
one."  — "  Daar  Thaddy,"  said  Kathleen,  "isn't  it  you  after  all, 
that  wull  he  gitting  yourself  into  throuble  ;  an  what  did  Father  Brian 
an  the  curate  chuck  in  your  taath  for  that  much?"  —  "  Och!  now, 
Kathleen,  it  was  not  in  the  like  o'  me  to  be  impartinint  to  sich  as 
them  ;  an  I  knew  wall  enough,  that  Tony  Mesarvy  cud  na  be  mar 
ried  by  the  rules  o'  the  praasthood  ;  but  I  thought  after  his  thrate- 
ment  o'  me,  it  wud  be  as  wall  to  pit  him  i'  the  way  o'  laaving  off 
praching,  an  baing  an  honest  mon  into  the  bargin.  But  ye  ax'd  me 
ninny,  what  they  ped  me  for  the  outlay.  Blunderanoon !  Wurra 
it  was,  was  n't  it  them  same  that  stud  right  away  fro'  me,  an 
crassed  'emselves,  as  though  I  had  brought  'em  a  bit  favor  fro' 
Scatland,  which  they  was  not  jist  willing  to  resave.  —  *  Y'  are 
damn'd  for  it,' says  the  curate,  'an  all  your  posterity  including 
your  father,  the  thaaf  that  he  was.'  —  'Next  Thursday,'  saad 
Father  Brian,  '  is  the  dee  for  cursing  hiretics,  appointed  by  the  most 
holy  catholic  church.  A  most  fortunate  evirit  it  is,  providinLal 
entirely.  Pit  him  down  for  a  double  portion.'  — So  the  curate  tuk 
out  a  leetle  book  an  wrote  away.  '  Ye  '11  ha'  your  share  o'  the 
brimstone,'  saad  Father  Brian.  '  Exkimmunikit  it  is  that  ye  are, 
an  so  ye  was  afore  ye  was  born.  A  sore  pity,  to  be  sure,  that  sich 
an  honest  lad  as  ye  might  ha'  bin,  if  ye  had  not  bin  the  divil  incar 
nate  that  ye  are,  should  be  etarnally  roasted ;  an  aven  now,  ye  poor 
toad,  for  I  saa  ye  thrimble  all  ower,  like  an  aspin  laaf,  —  aven  now, 
if  ye  wull  gi'  up  your  evil  ways  an  the  divil's  bard  o'  a  hiretic,  that 
y'  ave  married,  an  crave  the  church's  pardon,  on  your  knaas,  an 
the  curate's,  an  come  to  mass  an  confission  like  an  obadient  lad,  it 
cud  be  gotten  ower  perhaps.  A  little  practical  ividence  that  y'  ave 
truly  repinled  wud  be  expicted  o'  course.  A  fine  lot  o'  tarkeys  an 
gaase  it  is,  that  I  've  saan  as  I  pass'd  ould  David  McCready's  on 
the  island.'  —  Now  it  is  n't  me  that  wull  lie  about  it ;  I  did  thrimble 
a  leetle,  an  the  dhraps  o'  shwet  stud  upon  my  forhead,  whin  he 


190  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

mintioned  the  ward  exkimmunikit,  an  to  haar  him  talk  o'  haing 
roasted,  an  the  like  o'  that,  an  that  same  a  praast  into  the  bargain  ; 

—  but  whin  he  call'd  ye  a  hiretic,  swate  crathur  that  ye  are,  an  he 
had  been  ony  other  than  he  was,  I  wud  a  done  lor  him,  Lse  warrant 

—  I  did  n't  thrimble  after  that,  ye  may  depind.     '  Father  Ballignts.' 
says  I,  'I  till  ye,  a  protester  it  is  that  I  am,  an  y'  ave  nathing  to  do  wi' 
me  ;  an  it  isn't  the  vally  o'  a  laan  ould  gander,  that  1  'd  gi'  to  ony 
mon,  that  would  spake  so  onjintaal  o'  Mistress  Mashee ;  an  so,  if 
you  plase,  ye  may  jist  throw  aff  your  cassock  to  make  the  wark 
aisj    an  exkimmunikit  the  whole  boodle  o'  the  family,  turkeys  an 
all,  t!ll  y'  are  tired.'     An  so  I  turned  upon  my  haal,  an  was  aff  it.  a 
jiffy.     I  jist  Jook'd  ower  my  showther,  an  I  saa  'em  crassing  Vo> 
selves,  an  I  haar'd  something  aboot   exkimmunikit   in  ating,   an 
in  drinking,  an  in  slaaping ;  an,  jist  when  I  look'd  agin,  they  was 
taming  in  for  a  dhrap  o1  dew  to  Paddy  McCleary's  shebeen." 

"Poor  faable  crathurs  they  are,"  said  Kathleen,  after  a  short 
pause.  "  It  is  n't  in  the  like  o'  them  to  fitch  an  carry  for  the  Lard. 
Ah,  Thaddy,  faar  not  what  man  can  do  unto  ye,  an  vengeance  is 
mine  saith  the  Lard.  Ye  remimber  that  I  've  rid  the  like  o'  that  to 
ye  in  the  book.  Isn't  it  myself,  Kathleen  McCready."  —  "  No  it 
isn't,"  said  Thaddy,  interrupting  her.  —  "  No  more  it  isn't,"  con 
tinned  Kathleen,  "  Ise  no  desire  to  change  back  agin,  Thaddy. 
Isn't  it  myself  thin,  Kathleen  Mashee,  that  used  to  rin  for  life  wi' 
hunders  o'  poor  sowls  after  the  praasts,  to  do  thare  bidding.  It 
saams  to  me  now,  sich  mummery,  more  like  pitting  min  in  Gad's 
place,  nor  ony  other.  The  whole  time  was  wasted  wi'  aves,  an 
pater  nosters,  an  baads,  an  masses,  an  confissions,  an  praying  to  the 
saints,  poor  buddies,  as  though  the  Lard  Gad,  who  has  an  eye  ower 
all  his  warks,  had  not  an  aar  for  all  his  crathurs.  —  But.  Thaddy. 
what  cud  the  wicked  curate  maan  aboot  the  marriage  na  haing 
raal?"  — "  Cushla  macree,  gi'  yourself  no  onaisiness  aboot.  that 
nather.  It  was  that  same  it  was  that  throubled  me  a  leetle.  So, 
as  I  was  passing  Daniel  O'Leary's,  that  imminent  lawyer,  ye  know, 
I  call'd  out  Paddy  Shane,  the  lad  that  swaaps  the  affice  it  is;  an 
fl  stated  the  case  to  him,  as  I  thought  he  might  ha'  heer'd  the  law 
yer  spake  o'  it,  the  like  o'  it  I  maan,  whiles  he  was  swaaping ;  an 
so  ye  saa,  he  nivir  did.  But  the  oblaaging  crathur,  says  lie,  thn 
lawyei  has  jist.  got  a  fee,  that  he  niver  got  the  like  o'  it  in  his  life  ; 
it  rs  fro'  ould  Doran  the  miser,  for  proving  to  the  satisfaction  o'  the 
jury,  that  Pether,  the  ould  man's  son,  did  n't  staal  the  brown  'orse 
that  he  staal'd  afore  Christmas.  Pether  had  got  to  be  down 
hearted,  an  lost  his  gizzard  a  bit,  by  baing  sa  lang  i'  Dingle  jail, 
•o  he  confessed  that  he  staaFd  the  'orse,  afore  the  jailer  an  a  dozeo 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  191 

moor.  But  Lawyer  O'Leary  proved  by  moor  nor  foorty  witnesses 
an  his  own  father  an  mother  amang  the  rist,  that  Pether  was  sich 
an  infamous  liar  that  the  jury  cud  pit  no  reliance  upon  onything  he 
sed.  So  he  got  him  aff,  an  the  ould  dryskin  o'  a  miser,  as  lie  is, 
has  jist  pit  the  guineas  in  his  hand,  an  it 's  fee  enough  for  Pether  an 
the  like  o'  you.  Lawyer  O'Leary  is  jist  in  the  humor.  Come  in 
mon,  sed  Paddy  Shane,  an  I  '11  inthroduce  ye.  So  it  was  I,  that 
wint  in,  an  Paddy  Shane,  an  he  has  a  claan  tongue  o'  his  own,  made 
a  plainer  case  o'  it  nor  I  had  tould  him  myself.  So  Lawyer 
O'Leary  he  laughed  a  dale,  he  did;  an  he  tould  me  to  git  along, 
an  he  sed  a  saucy  thing  aboot  yerself  hinny,  but  nathing  ondacent 
it  was.  If  y'  ave  more  childher  sed  he  rior  y'  ave  praties,  th«  tane 
wull  lawfully  inhirit  the  tother.  An  he  bade  me  till  Tony  Mesarvy, 
the  curate,  if  I  mil  him,  that  Lawyer  O'Leary  wud  exkimrnunikit 
him  himself  afore  Easter,  for  a  pair  o'  brogues,  that  he  had  n't  ped 
for  to  Dan  Rian,  the  starving  shoemaker.  So  I  made  my  bow,  that 
is  I  made  a  dale  o'  bowing ;  an  whin  I  come  out,  '  there  's  no  fee  to 
be  sure,'  sed  Paddy  Shane,  '  but  an  ye  laave  a  tarkey  or  a  flitch  o' 
bacon,  whin  y' are  in  Killarney  agin,  it  wud  be  doing  the  dacent 
thing.'  —  'An  sure  it  wud,'  sed  I ;  *  y'  are  a  jewel  Paddy,  an  it  shall 
be  forthcoming. '  —  An  so  ye  saa  now  for  yourself,  swate  Katty, 
it 's  all  according  to  law,  and  sure  it  's  worth  a  tarkey,  or  a  graan 
goose  ather,  to  know  as  much  nor  that." 

It  is  not  easy,  among  the  walks  of  humble  life,  to  discover  a  more 
satisfactory  example  of  happiness  than  that,  which  existed  here,  in 
the  centre  of  Lough  Lean.  The  wants  of  this  happy  couple  were 
those  of  mere  necessity,  and  they  were  easily  supplied.  The  lake 
afforded  its  tribute  for  man's  occasions  in  abundance.  The  poultry 
yard  was  sufficiently  stocked,  not  only  for  domestic  uses,  but  many 
a  fat  bird  was  exchanged  for  the  good  things  of  Killarney,  and  now 
and  then  for  the  good  crathur ;  for  an  Irishman,  who  did  not  some 
times  partake  of  it,  would,  in  former,  days,  have  been  deemed 
scarcely  worthy  to  be  called  a  child  of  Erin.  The  McCreadies  had 
also  a  mouleen  or  two.  The  surrounding  woods  furnished  fuel  in 
abundance,  and  there  was  no  want  of  plain,  wholesome  apparel. 
Here  then  were  meat,  fire,  and  clothes,  the  sum  total  of  man's  phys 
ical  wants,  so  far  as  the  body  is  concerned.  Here  also  there  was 
no  lack  of  spiritual  aliment,  for  that  all  in  all,  the  great  text-book 
of  time  and  of  eternity,  was  here.  Beneath  the  roof  of  thatch,  and 
as  the  honored  possession  of  a  poor  Irish  girl,  it  spoke  the  same 
uncompromising  and  unalterable  language,  that  it  pronounced  in  the 
palaces  of  kings,  and  from  the  lips  of  archbishops.  The  tide  of 
imaginary  necessities  had  not  flowed  toward  this  humble  dwelling 


li>t  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

One  wave  follows  not  more  certainly,  in  close  pursuance  of  its  pro 
decessor,  than  one  imaginary  want  presses  behind  another ;  until 
happiness,  if  such  it  may  be  called,  is  found  to  consist  not  in  the 
fruition  of  our  present  possessions,  but  in  an  interminable  pursuit  of 
novelty.  There  is  not  a  more  unattainable  object  than  entire  con 
tentment  with  our  present  condition,  whatever  it  may  be  ;  and  the 
most  effectual  means  for  securing  it  are  to  be  found  in  the  establish 
ment  of  a  just  relative  standard  of  value,  between  the  commodities 
of  earth  and  heaven.  Kathleen  had  made  her  Bible  a  profitable 
study ;  for,  almost  unaided  in  searching  the  holy  volume,  she  had 
found  the  highest  object  of  all  human  pursuit,  her  Saviour  and  her 
God.  Kathleen  was  a  humble  Christian.  She  was  devoted  to  her 
parents  in  their  old  age  ;  and,  as  a  wife,  the  very  name  of  Katty 
Mashee  was  a  proverb,  in  those  parts.  She  loved  Thaddy,  on  other 
scores  than  the  mere  relation  of  husband.  As  one  feels  an  affection 
for  an  individual,  whom  he  has  drawn  out  of  the  water  by  the  very 
locks,  as  it  were;  so  Kathleen  looked  upon  Thaddy  as  a  brand, 
that  she  had  saved  from  the  burning.  She  had  been  the  means, 
under  Providence,  of  turning  him  from  a  career  of  crime ;  and, 
whatever  was  the  sum  total  of  Thaddy 's  religion,  it  was  attributa 
ble,  under  the  same  guidance,  to  her  untiring  exertions  alone.  For 
Thaddy,  though  devotedly  attached  to  Kathleen,  was  naturally  as 
wild  and  changeable  as  the  mountain  wind ;  and  such  impressions 
as  were  produced  upon  his  mind,  were  liable,  in  no  ordinary  degree, 
to  be  effaced  by  the  very  first  impulse  of  this  world's  affairs. 
"  Daar  heart,"  she  would  often  say,  after  several  ineffectual  at 
tempts  to  impress  some  precious  truth  upon  his  mind,  "it 's  wi'  the 
mather  1  wild  fix  in  ye,  as  it  is  wi'  the  footprint  upon  the  sandy 
shore  o'  ijough  Lean,  the  very  next  flush  of  the  wather  carries  it 
away." 

Thaddy  Mashee  had  satisfied  himself,  and  he  was  not  alone  in 
the  opinion,  that  he  had  no  talent  for  carrying  on  the  little  farm, 
which  his  father-in-law  had  tenanted  for  so  many  years.  "  Whin 
your  honored  father  is  gane  and  gathered,  Katty,"  said  he,  "  what 
shall  I  be  after  gaining  here,  in  the  way  o'  a  livelihood,  but  a  ded 
loss?  'T  will  be  a  losing  consarn,  so  will  it  incaad."  At  one  time 
he  was  inclined  to  settle  in  Derry,  and  be  a  weaker.  At  another, 
he  was  dispjsed  to  fix  himself  down,  as  a  shoemaker,  in  Killarney. 
At  length  he  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  he  would  be  a  carpenter, 
and  live  out,  his  days  in  Limerick.  —  About  a  year  alter  their  mar 
riage.  Kathleen  was  blessed  with  a  son,  whom  they  called  David 
McCready  after  his  grandfather.  This  event  appeared  greatly  to 
increase  Thaddy 's  anxiety  for  the  future.  —  "It's  hard  gittin  on 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  193 

Kathleen,"  said  he  one  evening,  as  they  were  sitting  by  the  child's 
cradle.  "  It  wor  iver  hard  enough,  but  harder  yet  it 's  to  be. 
Why,  ye  '11  not  tarn  your  head  ower  your  showther,  afore  David 
McCready  Mashee,  daar  little  imp  that  he  is  jist  now,  will  be  want 
ing  his  brogues  and  his  hat,  and  his  coat,  and  the  like  o'  that. 
Your  honored  father,  whin  he  was  that  same  man  what  he  was,  in 
the  green  tree,  cud  no  more  nor  bring  the  two  inds  o'  the  yaar 
togither,  and  tough  enough,  that  it  was.  Sure  it 's  not  myself,  that 
can  do  the  like  o'  him.  He  's  an  insight  o'  thase  mathers  and  a 
daap  calkillater  he  is,  and  knows  jist  how  mony  praties  apace  wull 
do  it,  ye  saa.-  I  wush  I  had  bin  brought  up  to  it,  Katty,  —  daar 
me ;  —  I  cud  do  it  aisily  I  think,  was  I  to  larn  the  carpinter's 
trade.  Limerick  is  a  great  place  for  a  carpinter,  they  say,  Katty." 
—  "  Don't  ye  remimber,"  said  Kathleen,  "  last  night  it  was,  I  was 
raading  it  to  ye,  Thaddy,  daar  mon,  *  Take  no  thought  for  the  mor 
row,  what  ye  shall  ate,  nor  what  ye  shall  drink,  nor  wherewithal  ye 
shall  be  clothed?'  "  —  "  I  had  na  misremimbered  that  nather,  Kath 
leen,"  he  replied  ;  "  nor  this  other  tixt  that  ye  rid  to  me,  '  He  that 
provideth  not  for  his  own  household  is  ten  times  worse  nor  an 
infidel,'  I  think  it  was."  —  "  Wall,  Thaddy,"  said  Kathleen  ;  "  I  'se 
right  glad  y'  ave  remimbered  it  so  wall,  though  it  is  n't  jist  so  in  the 
Bible. — Ye '11  mind  it,  Thaddy,  father  and  mother  are  ould  now. 
and  I  hope  mony  summers  and  winters  it  wull  be,  afore  the  black  ox 
trids  upon  the  toe  o'  ather,  good  luck  to  'em  both.  But  let  us  talk 
saftly,  for  they  may  be  waking  ye  know,  and  wud  n't  be  plased  to 
haar  us  spaaking  so  fraaly  o'  their  ould  age.  It  wud  n't  be  me,  your 
own  Kathleen,  that  wud  cause  ye  to  sorry  at  some  future  day,  to 
saa  me  rspintant  for  laaving  my  father  and  mither  i'  their  ould  age. 
So  I  must  do  the  naadful  for  'em  both  in  their  second  childhood,  as 
they  did  for  me  in  the  first :  and  moor  nor  that,  daar  Thaddy  "  said 
she,  sobbing  as  she  spoke,  and  covering  her  face  with  both  hands, 
*•  their  swaat  eyes  it  is,  that  have  tamed  upon  me  so  kindly,  the 
windies  out  o'  which  their  blissed  sowls  have  look'd  upon  rne  so 
fondly,  their  only  child  that  I  am,  —  thase  it  is  that  I  must  shut  up 
for  this  warld,  whin  they  go  under  boord,  to  be  opunt  niver  agin  till 
the  dee.  And  I  am  to  pit  them  both,  blessed  crathurs,  along  side 
o'  their  forbares.  —  Thin  it  wull  be  so,  that  Kathleen  Mashee 
wull  not  mind  the  big  hills  and  braad  waters  for  your  sake,  Thaddy  ; 
and  whuriver  ye  go,  is  n't  it  I  myself  that  wull  go  wid  ye?  Ve  '11 
thrate  me  kindly,  I  know  ye  wull ;  and,  if  ye  shud  be  hard  upon  me, 
may  God  forgi'  ye  now,  afore  ye  rinder  me  ill  for  good." 

Thaddy  could  scarcely  be  heard  for  his  sobs  :  "  Cushla  macree," 
said  he,  "can  it  be  ony  other  than  me  ray&olf  that  kntfwa  your 
r.  17 


194  AN  IRISH   HEART. 

own  maaning,  Katty?  Whin  I  was  ondacent  and  rough  to  ye,  the 
night  o'  Mary  Gary's  berril,  lest  her  sowl,  I  cud  ha'  graav'd  out 
thase  eyes  for  that  same  the  nixt  marning."  —  "Don't  mintion  it 
ony  moor,"  said  Kathleen  ;  "  I  knew  it  was  na  fault  o'  yours,  daar 
mon.  It  was  the  crathur,  it  was,  and  so  don't  be  after  taking  the 
thrifle  that  it  was  to  your  swaat  heart  ony  moor,  Thaddy." 

Thaddy  rested  satisfied  with  Kathleen's  promise  for  the  future. 
He  had  procured  a  few  tools,  and  with  the  occasional  assistance  and 
instruction,  which  he  was  able  to  obtain,  he  became  tolerably  expert 
in  the  coarse  branches  of  carpentry.  Thus  they  lived  on  for  two 
years,  at  the  close  of  which,  upon  a  careful  adjustment  of  thrir 
atcount  of  joys  an  i  sorrows,  a  large  balance  of  happiness  would 
have  been  found  in  their  favor.  After  his  occasional  visits  at  Killar- 
ney,  it  is  true,  that  Thaddy  would  frequently  bring  home  with  him 
indisputable  evidence,  that  the  habit  of  treating  and  being  treated,  so 
universal  among  the  common  Irish,  was  likely  to  disturb  the  har 
mony  of  this  little  household,  and,  if  carried  to  excess,  ultimately  to 
destroy  it.  Old  David,  who  had  fully  attained  that  period,  when 
the  grasshopper  is  said  to  be  a  burthen,  could  not  always  restrain 
his  complaints.  Kathleen,  upon  such  occasions,  was  the  peace 
maker.  She  had  obtained  no  common  influence  over  her  husband. 
"  Haar,  Thaddy,"  she  would  say,  as  she  drew  him  to  one  corner 
of  the  common  apartment,  "  this  way  mon,  it 's  your  tay,  and  a  maal 
cake,. that  '11  be  the  bist  thing  for  ye  :"  and  then,  in  an  undertone  to 
the  old  folks,  "  Poor  lad  it  is,  laave  him  alone,  it 's  not  he  tLat  's  to 
blame,  sartin,  it 's  the  crathur,  that  same." 

Time,  the  wizard,  whose  alchymy  is  everlastingly  at  work,  had 
wrought  great  changes  in  the  compass  of  four  years,  under  the 
thatched  roof  of  David  McCready.  —  Strangers  were  now  the  ten 
ants  of  old  David's  cottage.  The  duties  of  filial  affection  to  her 
parents,  to  which  Kathleen  had  so  feelingly  alluded,  had  been  faith 
fully  performed.  She  had  closed  their  eyes,  and  they  were  now 
sleeping  in  peace  with  their  forbares.  —  Not  long  after  this  event, 
Thaddy  and  Kathleen  put  together  their  little  possessions,  and  set 
forward  on  their  way  to  Limerick,  where  Thaddy  was  to  perfect 
himself  ir  the  carpenter's  business,  and  get  bread  for  his  family. 
Tnaddy's  spirits  were  very  buoyant.  "  Niver  doot  my  succiss 
entirely,'  he  would  sometimes  say,  "  it's  sartin  it  is;  for  there  's 
Kory,  and  Pether,  and  Michael  O'Donnohue,  thard  cousins  to  my 
own  father's  sister,  Winny  Mashee,  what 's  in  Limerick  ever  so 
lang,  gitting  rich  it  is  they  are.  And  they  writ  me  a  litter  aboot  it, 
that  is  they  got  it  writ.  I  never  resaaved  it  at  all,  at  all ;  but  Brian 
Luwder  it  was,  that  brought  it ;  that  is  he  forgot  it,  and  lit  it  at 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  195 

Bob  Finnigan's  shebeen,  where  he  stopped  on  his  jarney  to  git  a 
dhrap  afore  he  started.  Come,  chaar  up  hinny,"  said  he  to  Katt 
'een,  "  and  wipe  the  taars  affnow."  —  Kathleen  had  just  gotten  out 
of  the  wherry,  in  which  they  had  crossed  the  lake  from  Innisfallen 
to  the  main  land.  She  had  stopped,  for  a  moment,  to  take  a  last 
look  of  the  little  island  ;  —  her  birth  place,  —  the  scene  of  her  past 
life, — the  graves  of  her  fathers  were  there  !  The  tear  gathered  in 
her  eye.  "  Daar  Thaddy,"  she  exclaimed,  "  it 's  na  me  repinting 
onyhow ;  —  but  maybe  I  '11  not  see  Lough  Lean  and  Innisfallen 
agin."  —  "  Cushla  macree,  chaar  up  a  bit,"  cried  Thaddy  ;  "  stand 
safe  whur  y'  are,  till  I  lift  oot  the  gorsoon  ;  and  isn't  it  this  little 
crathur,  your  own  it  is,  that  I  'm  pitting  in  your  hand,  David 
McCready  Mashee,  wid  the  name  o'  your  honored  father  into  the 
bargin  ;  isn't  it  this  same,  that  '11  be  a  stay  and  a  staff  to  ye  whin 
y'  are  ould?"  —  "  Ye  may  wall  say  that,  and  I  hope  it  is,"  replied 
Kathleen,  wiping  her  eyes,  "  bat  after  ail,  Thaddy,  the  halp  o' 
mon  's  a  raad  ye  know.  Whin  it 's  a'  the  warst,  the  true  halp  is 
haar,  and  indaad  it  is,"  holding  up  at  the  same  time  Kathleen's  own 
book,  the  Bible,  which  she  had  not  thought  proper  to  trust  with  their 
ordinary  baggage. 

They  proceeded  on  their  way,  and,  without  any  extraordinary 
adventure,  arrived  safely  in  Limerick  ;  and,  as  may  be  readily  sup 
posed,  both  Thaddy  and  Kathleen  were  greatly  astonished  at  the 
magnificence  of  the  metropolis  of  Munster,  compared  with  anything 
they  had  seen  before.  They  had  not  advanced  far,  after  entering 
the  town,  when  Thaddy,  notwithstanding  the  heavy  pack  upon  his 
shoulders,  sprang  full  five  feet  into  the  air.  "Life's  me!"  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  came  down,  throwing  his  cap  upon  the  earth  for 
joy.  "  Daar  Thaddy,  what 's  in  ye  to  scrape  it  thus  in  a  great 
strange  place?"  said  Kathleen;  "  why,  the  folks  it  is  wull  think 
y  'ave  seen  a  banshee,  or  the  like  o'  that."  —  "  Wurra  now,"  cried 
Thaddy,  "  that  same  it  is,  don't  ye  saa,  lucky  heart,"  pointing  to  a 
little  shebeen,  over  which,  on  a  rough  board,  was  chalked,  in  toler 
ably  fair  characters,  R  F I  iVN  /G  A  N.  "  Now  I  '11  get  at  it," 
continued  Thaddy,  "entirely;"  and,  stepping  up  to  the  door,  ho 
gave  a  smart  rap  with  his  shillala.  "  Walk  in,"  answered  a  sharp 
voice.  — "  It 's  you  to  walk  out  sir,  plase  ye ;  my  wife  's  here,  an  I 
wud  na  be  apt  to  laave  her  in  a  strange  place,"  replied  Thaddy. — 
Upon  this  the  door  was  opened  by  a  little,  round  man  vi  ith  a  red 
face.  "  Your  name  sir,  is  Finnigan,  onyhow,"  said  Thaddy. 
"  Indaad  an  it  is,"  replied  the  little  man,  "  an  what 's  your  wull  sir, 
maybe  it 's  a  dhrap  ye  wud."  —  "Not  jist  that  nather,"  replied 
.  T  "  It 's  tie  dust  it  is,  that  mak's  it  onconvanient  for  youi 


196  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

woman  outside,"  rejoined  the  little  man,  "  maybe  ye  '11  find  ar  iter 
sate  for  a  leddy  inside  the  shebeen."  — "  The  bisness  is  jist  >iaar 
sir,"  said  Thaddy,  entering  the  dram  shop  followed  by  Kathleen, 
leading  David  by  the  hand,  "I  vvud  like  to  resaave  the  litter  that 
Brian  Lovvder  fitched  me  to  Killarney,  and  lift  jist  here,  for  he  for 
got  it,  the  spalpeen  that  he  was."  —  "  May  be  it 's  all  the  same  as 
ye  spake,"  replied  Finnigan ;  "  Brian  Lowder,  that  same,  is  the 
very  mon  that  I  niver  saa  here,  nor  what 's  moor  nor  all  that,  I  niver 
haaid  o'  him  onywhere.  May  be  y'  es  acquainted  in  Lim'rick, 
ih'ujgh  it 's  your  name  I  niver  haar'd  afore  nor  since."  —  "  It  wud 
ha  bin  the  dacent  thing  to  he  sure,"  said  Thaddy,  "  an  I  had  tould 
ye  myself.  It 's  Thaddy  Mashee,  my  name  sir,  at  your  sar^ice,  an 
this  is  Mrs.  Kathleen,  my  woman,  an  the  gorsoon  is  David  McCready, 
that  was  his  grandfather,  pace  to  his  sowl.  Kathleen,  hinny,"  said 
Thaddy,  in  a  whisper,  "  what  is  *t  ye  '11  tak?" —  "  A  little  buther- 
milk  for  me  an  David,  plase  ye,  Thaddy."  —  "  Wud  it  be  dacent, 
now  we  've  inside  the  shebeen,"  continued  he  in  a  low  voice,  "  not 
to  call  for  a  dhrap  o'  whiskey,  or  a  leetle  porther,  hinny?"  Kath 
leen  made  no  reply,  and  Thaddy  called  for  —  "  a  pint  o'  porther  if 
ye  plase,  Mr.  Finnigan."  The  tap  went  round  in  a  twinkling,  and 
the  porter  was  soon  foaming  on  the  counter.  Kathleen  barely  tasted 
it,  and  helped  herself  and  David  to  some  water.  "  Haar's  to  our 
better  acquaintance,  Mr.  Finni^an,"  said  Thaddy,  as  he  put  the  mug 
to  his  lips.  —  "Thanks  to  ye  for  all  that  Mr.  McCready,"  replied 
the  little  man.  "  Mashee,  if  ye  plase,"  said  Thaddy,  "  an  no  im- 
pachement  o'  the  name  o'  McCready  nather."  —  "  An  so  it  was," 
replied  Finnigan,  "  there  's  so  mony  comes  haar,  that  I  misremimber 
sometimes.  —  Scanty  custom  is  it  this  a  way,  the  dee,  for  all  the 
warld  's  up  tother  end  o'  Lim'rick,  to  saa  Pettier  O'Donnohue  pit 
up.  He*'s  to  be  hang'd  for  taking  a  purse  on  the  top  o'  the  high- 
w'ay."  —  "  Whoosh  !"  cried  Thaddy,  as  he  dropped  the  mug  from 
his  hand,  "  that  same  is  thard  cousin  to  my  own  father's  sister  ony 
how!"  — "  I  beg  your  pardon  sir,  upon  the  honor  o'  a  jintilman, 
it 's  not  in  Robert  Finnigan  to  maan  offince  to  ony  customer.  It  's 
right  sorry  that  I  am,  that  your  cousin  is  going  to  be  hang'd  ;  but 
the  dhrap  was  to  fall  at  twalve  presasely,  an  it 's  more  now  nor  half 
alter  ;  so  ye  may  contint  yourself  for  it 's  all  ower.  I  'm  truly  sorry 
for  the  poor  lad,  mony  's  the  pint  o'  porther  and  dhraps  o'  good 
whiskey  he  's  had  o'  my  own  drawing.  It 's  a  raal  disappointment  to 
me,  that  he  's  going  to  be  hang'd,  that  is,  that  he  is  hang'd  already, 
whichever  way  it  may  be.  Indaad  it  quite  pit  the  small  mather  o' 
the  mug,  that  ye  bruk  jist  now,  out  o'  mind.  It 's  a  shilling  the 
pair  they  be  ;  an  oonsitiering  the  case,  that  the  inug  was  broken, 


AN  IRISH   HEART.  197 

whiles  ye  was  taking  your  cousin's  misfortin  to  heart,  an  lost  the 
portlier  info  the  bargin,  I  '11  take  sixpence  o'  ye  an  na  moor,  unlisft 
ye  11  taste  a  leetle  o'  our  whiskey,  —  a  nate  thing  it  is." 

During  the  delivery  of  this  expressive  specimen  ol  a  whiskey 
seller's  grief  for  the  death  of  an  excellent  customer,  and  sympathy 
for  surviving  friends  ;  poor  Thaddy  had  taken  his  seat  upon  a  bench, 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  —  "  He  was  an  ould  frind  to  ye  thin, 
Pether  O'Donnohue?"  continued  Finnigan.  —  "  I  never  saa  him," 
answered  Thaddy,  without  raising  his  head,  "  in  all  my  barn  decs, 
but  I  saa  his  thard  cousin,  my  father's  own  sister,  mony  a  dee." 
Kathleen  readily  understood,  that  her  husband  was  not  only  affected, 
by  the  disgraceful  death  of  his  relative,  but  very  naturally  dejected 
by  an  unexpected  embarrassment  of  his  hopes.  He  had  become 
impressed  with  a  belief,  that  the  O'Donnohues  were  "  getting  rich," 
and,  as  he  supposed,  in  some  honest  calling.  Kathleen,  in  the  most 
natural  manner,  explained  her  husband's  situation  ;  and  her  evident 
simplicity  of  character,  and  uncommon  attractiveness  of  person,  so 
far  wrought  upon  the  feelings  of  the  little,  red  man,  that  he  opened 
a  door  in  rear  of  the  shebeen,  and  took  them  into  an  apartment, 
where  they  could  be  more  comfortable.  Finnigan  was  a  catholic, 
but  his  wife  was  a  protestant.  She  was  very  kind  to  the  new 
comers,  assured  them  that  Limerick  was  the  "  purtiest  city  in  the 
warld,"  and  bade  them  to  be  "  aisy  in  their  quarthers  widout  moor 
bidding,"  for  a  day  or  two,  until  they  could  settle  their  plans. 

After  some  time,  Thaddy  mustered  courage  to  inquire  after  his 
other  connections,  Rory  and  Michael,  the  brothers  of  Peter  O'Don 
nohue..  He  made  the  inquiry  with  evident  embarrassment.  "  Mak 
yourself  aisy  mon,"  answered  Finnigan,  "  hanging  wull  rin  in  a 
family,  truth  it  is,  but  not  Rory  nor  Michael  nather  it  is  n't  that  has 
gone  that  a  way  as  Pether.  An  ye  was  the  lirst  cousin  o'  the  hull 
blood  o'  the  best  o'  the  two,  ye  wud  na  git  an  aar  o'  'em  the  dee. 
They,  an  Bill  Flannigan,  an  Paddy  Connel,  an  Matt  Clegan,  an 
Tom  Leary,  an  a  great  mony  moor 's  detarmined  for  the  buddy ;  an, 
whin  it 's  cut  down,  an  there  's  not  a  rush,  an  a  thrial  o'  staves, 
my  name  's  not  Bobby  Finnigan.  They  were  expectin  a  riscue  last 
night,  an  the  sojers  were  out,  bad  luck  to  'cm.  —  An  they  git  the 
buddy,  Rory,  an  Michael,  an  the  rist,  if  it 's  na  moor  nor  a  leetle 
Inger  nor  a  hair  o'  his  head,  it 's  a  riglar  birrill  they  '11  have,  an  a 
ivake  into  the  bargin,  depind.  If  the  High  Sherry,  an  he  ?s  a  raal 
bould  mon,  he  is,  shud  manage  it  so  nately,  as  to  cut  him  down 
entirely,  it 's  rather  in  a  saft  bid  o'  chaff*  T  wud  be,  than  the  sargeon 
to  lay  a  knife  to  the  chaak  o'  Pether  O'Donnohue,  live  or  did,  six 
faat  four  that  he  was  without  his  brogues,  to  cut  him  up.  Not  fox 

VOL.I  17* 


198  AN   IRISH  HEART. 

the  faar  o'  Pether  nor  the  banshee,  butRory  an  Michael  wild  niver 
linger  nor  laave,  till  they  'd  sint  the  doctor  an  his  instrimints,  where 
*hey  don't  rake  up  the  fire  ony  night.  —  But  the  litter,  that  same  ye 
was  spaking  o',  whin  ye  kim  in  the  shebeen,  that  ye  niver  resaav'd. 

—  May  be  't  was  from  thim  tuo  an  Pether  tnat  ye  did  n't  resaave  it. 

—  Hut !  now  Ise  got  the  hull  mather,  an  the  clue  to  it 's  jist  in  my 
hoaa.     Your  cousins  an  a  rigimint  o'  'em  ha'  bin  in  arnest,  moor  nor 
foor  months,  to  git  up  a  strong  gang  for  America.     John  McClos- 
key,  an  extinsive  daler  he  was,  in  ould  harses  chafely,  wint  ower 
fro'  Cark  he  did,  an  immigritted  entirely.     That  same  it  is,  tbat  's 
retarned  to  Li nr rick ;  an  John  spakes  o'  the  country,  as  a  dacent 
place  for  an  Irishman  to  live  in.     He  's  intrating  his  ould  connic- 
tions,  an  they  're  claan  down  hill  some  o'  'em  onyhow,  to  go  back 
alang  wi'  him.     It 's  poor  wark,  John  McCloskey  says,  for  one  poor 
felly  to  go  drifting  aboot  the  new  country,  like  a  wild  goose  wi'  a 
wing  an  a  half;  but  a  rigimint  can  stand  by  one  another,  as  they 
did  at  the  Boyne,  or  aven  haar,  whin  ould  Lim'rick  was  besaged  in 
ninety,  an  it  was.     McCloskey  is  haar  amost  ivry  dee  an  avening, 
a  bating  up  for  recruits  ye  saa,  for  the  new  country,  an  the  O'Don- 
nohues  alang  wid  him  ;  an  it 's  na  doot  they  wud  be  in  the  shebeen 
to  night,  an  poor  Pether  himself,  an  it  was  not  for  this  dishagraable 
pace  o'  bisness.     Maybe  y'  ud  do  a  natur  thing  for  yoursilves  that  a 
way  indaad,  nor  the  tother." 

Thaddy  and  Kathleen  were  in  bed,  three  hours  at  least,  before 
they  fell  asleep,  employing  that  interval  in  discussing  the  subject, 
which  was  last  presented  to  their  thoughts.  Thaddy  was  evidently 
inclined  to  favor  the  project,  and  Kathleen  consented  to  any  plan, 
which  might  be  most  likely  to  promote  his  happiness ;  but  advised 
him  not  to  resolve  upon  the  measure,  until  he  had  heard  John 
McCloskey's  account  of  the  new  country. 

A  t  at  early  hour,  the  next  morning,  the  gathering  commenced  in 
Bob  Finnigan's  shebeen.  McCloskey  and  the  O'Donnohues  were 
among  the  first  that  arrived ;  and  Kathleen,  so  far  as  mere  exter 
nals  were  concerned,  had  not  much  reason  to  be  proud  of  her  hus 
band's  relations.  Rory  and  Michael  were  a  couple  of  rough-looking, 
broad-shouldered,  bull-necked,  red-headed  fellows,  covered  with  dirt 
and  garnished  with  rags.  McCloskey  was  rawboned  and  tall.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  threadbare  coat  of  blue  cloth,  old  leather  breeches, 
jack  boots,  and  long  spurs,  a  waistcoat  of  red  plush,  and  a  fox-skin 
cap  ;  a  gilt  watch-chain  hung, ten  or  twelve  inches  from  his  fob  ;  and 
a  large  cross  of  pinchbeck  was  exhibited,  in  the  bosom  of  his  shirt, 
as  dirty  as  any  in  the  province  of  Munster.  —  After  the  customary 
greetings,  and  salutations  upon  the  first  introduction  of  the  O  Don 


AN   IRISH  HEART.  199 

nohues  and  the  Mashees ;  — "  Mr.  Finnigan,"  said  McCloskey, 
"  the  bisness  naad  not  be  so  very  public,  ye  know,  an  ye  have 
no  objictions,  we  '11  stip  in  your  house  part,  an,  whin  ony  o'  our  side 
comes  in,  ye  '11  be  sinding  'em  that  a  way,  mind  ye.  An  jintilmen, 
as  this  is  our  first  mating,  it 's  myself  that  wull  thrate  :  — jist  a 
quart  o'  the  nate  crathur,  Mr.  Finnigan,  if  ye  plase." — The  party 
adjourned  accordingly  to  the  apartment,  in  rear  of  the  shebeen. 
"  So  ye  was  not  so  succissful,  I  haar,"  said  Finnigan,  address 
ing  the  O'Donnohues,  "as  ye  desarved,  it  sames;"  —  "Not  that 
nathcr,"  answered  Rory,  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  the  bloodthirsty  villin 
o'  a  Sherry  it  was,  bad  luck  to  him !  he  had  the  sojers  an  the  hull 
pussy  o'  Lim'rick  at  his  back,  an  't  wud  'a  bin  the  hoith  o'  madness, 
if  we  had  a  ris."  —  "  Poor  swaat  Pether !"  cried  Michael  O'Don- 
nohue,  "  they  's  got  to  answer  for  it  i'  the  dee,  pitting  up  an  honest 
mon,  that  a  way,  onyhow."  —  "  Ye  may  wall  say  that,"  continued 
Rory,  "  for,  afore  he  wint  aff  he  confissed,  an  got  a  wafer.  Father 
Connolly  sed  it  wasn't  the  like  o'  him,  that  iver  heer'd  sich  a 
confission  afore,  there  was  sich  a  hape  o'  offinces,  but  he  made 
a  claan  brist  he  did.  Good  Father  Connolly,  the  Lard  be  good  to 
him,  he  saad  me  waping,  an  he  jist  whispered  to  me,  as  he  wint 
on,  — '  Rory,'  says  he,  '  tak  it  aisy  as  ye  may,  niver  did  ye  saa  a 
star  i'  the  claar  night  moor  nor  I  saad  Pether's  sowl  go  up  to 
glowry.'  " 

By  this  time,  the  room  had  become  full,  or  nearly  so,  of  persons 
of  both  sexes,  who  were  more  or  less  inclined  to  emigrate. — 
"  Whin  I  was  laaving  America  it  was,"  said  McCloskey,  "  hang 
ing  was  gittin  out  o'  vogue  entirely.  Petitions  was  sint  fro'  all 
quarthers  o'  America,  for  pittin  a  stap  to  it.  I  sould  a  blood  'orse 
to  a  Siniter,  who  tould  me  as  much  as  all  .that."  — "  Och !  now, 
sowl  o'  me,"  cried  Michael  O'Donnohue,  "  if  Pether  had  n't  taken 
the  jintilman's  purse,  till  he  got  ower  to  the  dacent  country,  that  it 
is,  haar  it  is  he  wud  be,  at  this  blissed  dee,  riddy  to  immigrit  wid 
the  rist  o'  us."  —  "Wall  wall,  haar 's  pace  to  his  sowl,"  said 
McCloskey,  turning  off  his  glass  of  whiskey.  The  crathur  began 
to  creep  round  the  room,  producing  evidences  of  its  magic  power, 
in  the  increasing  hilarity  and  confusion  of  voices. — "An  I  was 
wanst  ower,  it 's  not  I  that  wud  be  sorry  for  that  same,"  said  Ned 
b'aden,  the  tailor.  "  An  may  be  for  all  that,  it 's  not  yourself 
Neddy,  that  wud  n't  be  right  glad  to  get  a  glimpse  o'  ould  Ireland 
agin,"  cried  little  Peter  Healy,  who  went  to  America  about  two 
years  before,  and  had  lately  returned.  —  "Whoosh!  Och!  Hut! 
Wurra ! "  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  voices  at  once.  "  Pether  Healy," 
•aid  Rory  O'Donnohue,  "an  y' are  not  the  lad  to  go  wid  us,  y' ud 


AN  IRISH  HEART. 

better  go  by  yourself  an  be  aisy,  an  not  be  after  tassing  your  could 
wather  upon  the  interprise  onyhow."  —  "  Jist  listen  to  raison  a  bit," 
cried  McCloskey,  "  it 's  Mr.  Healy  sure  that 's  a  good  right  to  till 
his  ixpariences  o1  the  new  country  an  it  plase  him ;  an  thin  1  '11  jist 
be  after  axing  ye  to  lit  myself  spake  a  minnit,  whin  he  's  ower." 
—  This  proposition  was  received  with  a  buzz  of  approbation;  and 
Peter  Healy,  having  taken  a  fresh  glass  of  whiskey,  cleared  his 
throat  to  begin.  —  "  Ye  '11  mak  it  as  bad  as  ye  can,  Tether  Healy," 
cried  a  rosy  lass,  who  sat  in  the  corner,  "  for  Patrick,  my  mon  there, 
is  for  going,  an  I  raally  wush  he  'd  stay  at  'um,  an  cobble  the 
brogues,  an  lave  drinking,  an  divarsions,  an  divilment,  an  the  like 
o'  that."  —  "Hould  your  tongue  ye  jade,"  said  Patrick  Murphy, 
joining  himself  in  the  good-natured  laugh,  occasioned  by  his  wife  s 
remark.  — "Bad  as  I  can,  is  it  ye  say,  Eyley?"  cried  Peter,  "  it 's 
na  aisy  mather,  to  make  it  worse  nor  it  is,  ye  may  depind  ;  an  so 
I  '11  till  ye  all  what  I  knows  aboot  America.  It  's  me,  that  wud 
sooner  thrate  myself  to  a  ride  upon  ony  sliding  bog,  nor  go  that  a 
way  agin.  The  Sayflower  was  the  name  o'  the  ship  we  wint  owei 
in  to  the  new  country,  an  a  sayflower  it  was  indaad,  for  I  thought 
we  shud  niver  be  sot  upon  dry  land  ony  moor.  A  maan,  rotten, 
ould  brig  it  was  entirely.  She  was  thray  waaks  nor  moor,  gittin 
under  way  fro'  Dingle.  To  dee  a  laak  it  wud  be  ;  an  to  morrow 
the  captain's  peepers  wud  n't  be  aboord ;  thin  a  shmall  touch  o' 
throuble,  Mary  Flaherty's  childher,  the  hull  thirteen  o'  'em,  an  she 
a  widdy,  down  wi'  the  small  pox  at  wanst.  We  was  all  shmook'd 
o'  coorse.  Whin  all  was  riddy,  a  hid  wind  hild  on  for  moor  nor 
eight  dees.  I  jist  rin  up  to  Dingle,  for  a  bit  o'  fresh  air,  ye  see, 
an,  whin  I  was  retarning,  the  ould  hulk,  for  the  wind  had  kim  fair, 
was  standing  out  o'  Dingle  bay.  It  was  myself,  Ise  warrant  ye, 
that  fotched  a  scraam  louder  nor  ony  keena  ye  iver  heer'd  at  a 
wake,  an  a  strait  tail  it  was  that  I  made  o'  my  lang  blue,  as  1  rin 
down  the  hill.  The  ould  thing  pit  back  her  topsail  an  lay  to,  jist 
as  I  scraamed,  tho'  she  was  aff  shore,  two  miles  it  was.  I  cud  n't 
ha'  belav'd  it  was  in  the  man  o'  me  to  scraam  at  sich  a  rate  as  that. 
But  I  pit  forth  my  lungs  onyhow,  for  I  filt  murthered.  It 's  my 
chist,  an  more  nor  all  I  had  i'  the  warld  going  aff  to  America,  an  I 
all  alone  wid  myself  in  Dingle,  where  I  know'd  not  a  sowl,  only 
David  McCarthy,  an  he  the  last  parson  I  wud  saa,  for  I  ow'd  him  a 
thrifle  that  it  wasn't  convanient  to  pay.  The  boat  was  lit  down, 
an  soon  raach'd  the  wharf,  an  so  I  rin  to  it,  an  says  I,  I  did  n't 
think  ye'd  haar  me  scraam.'  —  'No  moor  we  didn't.'  says  they. 
But  I  soon  saad  how  it  was.  Foor  shaapish  fellies  fro'  Dingle,  that 
raaan'd  to  go  ower  for  nothing  at  all,  was  deticted  in  the  ovM  brig'? 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  201 

staarage,  for  indaad  they  deticted  'emselves,  by  paaping  out  for 
so'thing  to  ate,  having  swally'd  all  the  praties  they  tuk  wid  'ern  in 
their  pockets,  an  thinking-,  as  they  confissed,  they  was  moor  nor 
V*1.!'  wty  to  America.  So  we  got  aboord,  an  —  "  Pether,  Pether," 
«..:.le:l  Michael  0  Donnohue,  "  there  '11  be  no  ind  to  your  kreel  this 
<:  ••vay ;  it  was  to  America  ye  was  going."  —  "  Thrue  for  you 
Mi3hael,"  rejoined  Peter  Healy,  "  but  if  ye  "d  saad  that  Sayflo\ver 
yourself,  ye  'd  confiss  she  was  a  dull  sailer,  Michael ;  an  ould  mud 
tarlue  wud  bate  her  on  a  wind.  I  '11  take  a  dhrap,  since  y  'ave 
brought  me  to  a  slapping  place."  Peter  filled  his  glass.  Man  is 
said  10  be  an  imitative  animal,  and  in  such  a  situation,  no  man 
is  more  so  than  an  Irishman.  Michael  attempted  to  follow  his 
example,  but  the  whiskey  was  drnnk  out.  He  was  about  to 
caii  lor  more,  but  wa.-  prevented  by  McCloskey ;  "  another  quart, 
Mi.  Finnigan,"  said  he,  "it 's  myself  that  thrates."  —  After  the 
giass*  had  gone  round,  Peter  Healy  WHS  once  more  under  way  in  the 
Seaflower.  —  "  It 's  not  me  if  I  iver  saad  sa  mony  min,  women,  and 
childher  squazed  together  in  sich  maan  quarthers  as  I  saad  thin, 
aboord  that  same  Sayflower,  exceptin  at.  ould  Tommy  McLaughlin's 
wake  an  birrill ;  an  the  like  o'  that  was  niver  saad  in  Ireland  afore 
nor  since,  for  divilment  an  dart.  Moor  nor  foor  waaks  we  banged 
aboot,  bating  all  the  time,  an  we  was  bate  by  ivery  thing  that  kim 
naar  us  into  the  bargin.  Thin  it  was  we  had  a  gale  wud  mak  your 
chaaks  crack  agin,  an  a  roarin  saa  an  the  ould  Sayflower  o'  the 
tap  o'  it,  an  thin  agin,  o'  the  buttum.  They  got  her  afore  the 
wind,  and  thin  the  wind  got  behind  her."  —  "That's  o'  coorse, 
Pether,"  said  Eyley,  winking  at  Finnigan's  wife  and  Kathleen,  who 
were  seated  together.  —  "  Elyey  Murphy,"  Peter  replied,  "your 
tongue  nades  to  be  abbraviated,  wull  ye  tak  your  own  shares  to  it? 
—  When  the  clouds  claar'd  away  a  bit,  the  captin  wud  ha'  taken 
ai:  obsarvation,  but  he  was  purty  considerably  drunk  entirely,  an 
dje  mate  it  was,  that  was  no  better  nor  he.  Eighty  dees  we  had 
b*n  in  this  ould  Sayflower ;  an,  for  twanty,  maan  ating  it  was  that 
we  had ;  magre  enough  I  till  ye.  Thin  we  had  another  gale  ;  we 
carried  away  both  tapmasts  an  thin"  —  "Didn't  ye  carry  them 
same  away,  whin  ye  sail'd,  Pether?"  said  Eyley.  —  "A  maan  jist 
it  is,"  replied  Peter,  "  for  a  calleen  like  yourself,  Eyley  ;  an  ye  'd 
hcer'd  the  shra'king  o'  the  women  an  childher,  ye  wud  n't  a  bin 
jokin  onyway.  I  niver  curst  the  crathur  in  the  daap  o'  my  own 
sowl,  till  that  dee  it  was.  The  lives  o'  every  one  o'  us  depinded 
upon  the  captain  an  the  mate,  an  the  harder  it  blew,  they  wud  get 
drunker  nor  iver.  Tom  Cregan,  your  own  cousin  he  was,  Eyley, 
vjs.  vxy  fro'  the  staarage,  an  cried  out  '  She  's  sprang  alaak ! '  Thin 


202  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

• 

sich  a  hulabaloo  ye  niver  haar'd  in  your  hull  life,  for  amost  all 
thought  she  was  sinking  downright.  There  was  one  o'  the  crew, 
Jack  Coffin  his  name  it  was,  was  sober  the  hull  time  ;  he  was  what 
in  the  new  country  they  spake  o'  for  a  yankee.  A  stout  felly 
that  same,  an  a  kind  heart  an  the  hist  o'  faalings  he  had.  He  o. 
down  an  was  up  agin  in  a  dash,  an  bade  us  be  aisy ;  '•Kaap  u» 
your  courage  my  bys,'  says  he,  '  there  's  a  Gad  above  us  ell ! '  '"  — 
"An  did  he  spake  that  same?"  said  Kathleen,  while  the-  tears 
filled  her  eyes.  —  "  Indaad  an  he  did,"  replied  Peter  Heaiy,  "  an 
he  pit  us  to  the  pumps,  an  we  wark'd  more  fraaly  for  our  lives,  ye 
may  be  sure,  nor  for  ony  ather  wages.  An  now  an  thin  we  'd  ihaar 
Jack  Coffin's  voice  louder  nor  the  storm  nor  the  craaking  o'  the  ou-rt 
hulk,  *  Chaar  up  my  hearties ,'  wud  he  say,  '  we  're  gaining  upon  the 
laak;'  an  didn't  we  spare  ourselves  niver  a  bit  think  ye?  An  thin 
after  he  sot  us  to  thrumming  a  sail,  as  they  call  it,  that  is,  ye  s?9, 
we  stitch 'd  it  all  ower  wid  oakum  an  ould  rags,  —  rags  a  plinty 
there  was,  for  aven  the  women  an  the  childher  warked  an  cned 
together,  tearing  aif  the  bits  o'  their  ould  petticoats  to  thrum  the  sail 
wid.  So  we  got  it  ower  the  ould  Sayflower,  that  is  under  her  laaky 
buttum  1  maan ;  an  it  suck'd  into  the  saams,  an  stapp'd  the  laak 
moor  immadiately  nor  a  mash'd  praty.  '  Thank  the  Lara1  for  that,1 
sed  Jack  Coffin.  There  was  another  yankee  nor  he,  that  niver 
tasted  the  crathur,  Abel  Judson  they  call'd  him.  They  sed  they 
were  numbers  o'  a  society,  in  the  new  country,  that  niver  tasted  it 
entirely ;  a  pace  o'  their  craad  was  it,  na  doot.  So  Jack  Coffin 
call'd  Judson  an  aboot  a  dozen  o'  the  most  lively  of  the  immigrants, 
myself  o'  coorse  amang  the  rist,  to  the  quarther  dick.  — '  Silf-pris- 
eruation  my  lads,'  sed  he,  '  is  the  law  o'  nathur ;'  jist  thase  was  his 
very  wards.  4  Indaad  an  it  is,'  sed  we.  Jist  thin  the  women  begins 
to  faal  better  an  stronger,  saaing  a  dozen  or  moor  o'  the  bist  o'  us 
standing  up  to  one  another  that  a  way  ;  an  they  pulls  their  wat 
cloaks  ower  their  showthers,  an  comminces  to  wipe  the  saut  wather 
aff  the  small  childher's  faces.  —  'An  will  ye  stand  by  us  two,'  sed 
Jack  Coffin  an  Judson,  for  the  rist,  mind  ye,  was  drunk,  '  an  we  do 
the  bist  we  can  to  save  all  your  lives  ?' — '  An  it 's  that  we  wull,  maas- 
tor  Coffin,  to  the  last  dhrap,'  sed  we,  as  we  stud  up  close  t'him. 
'An  the  captin  kapes  drunk,'  sed  he,  '  an  the  mate  too,  there  's  noth 
ing  afore  us  but  th'  etarnalwarld,for  neither  Judson  nor  myself,'  sed 
he,  '  knows  how  to  tak  an  observation  or  navigate  the  brig  ;  so  if 
ye 're  true  men,  follow  me.'  —  Thin  he  saaz'd  a  braad-axe  an  wiiit 
down  to  the  cabin,  an  we  after  him.  There  was  a  cask  o'  spirits 
there,  an  Jack  Coffin,  wid  one  blow  o'  the  braad-axe,  stav'd  in  the 
hid,  an  away  rin  the  crathur  ower  the  flure ;  a  graavous  sight  u.x 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  203 

ony  other  time  nor  that,  to  be  sure.  The  mate  was  daaf  as  a  kreel 
o'  tuif ;  but  the  captin  ris  in  his  cot,  and,  drunk  as  he  thin  was,  he 
saaz'd  his  pistols,  and  cri'd  '  A  mutiny !'  an  thereupon,  holding  the 
pistol  close  to  the  chaak  o'  Hugh  Mulligan,  he  crack'd  away,  but. 
some  how  nor  another  he  miss'd,  an  the  ball  lodg'd  in  the  cabin  door. 
As  he  saaz'd  the  tother  pistol,  Abel  Judson  an  Jo  Muncrief  it  was, 
I  'm  thinkin,  saaz'd  himself,  an  Jack  Coffin  tuk  away  the  pistol  an 
his  hanger.  '•It 's  no  mutiny  Captin  BaikyJ  sed  Jack,  ''but  y"1  are 
drunk  as  a  baste,  an  if  ye  don't  laave  off,  an  gV  us  your  assistance, 
we  're  last.'  The  captin  swore  terribly,  but  was  too  drunk  to  be  o' 
ony  sarvice  jist  thin.  So  we  lift  him  for  the  prisent.  We  had  no 
moor  nor  got  up  fro'  the  cabin,  whin  a  dreadful  big  wave  struck  the 
otild  Say  flower,  breaking  all  ower  us,  casting  loose  the  wather 
casks,  ripping  away  the  quarther  boords  an  part  o'  the  bulwarks, 
swaaping  the  dicks,  an  throwing  the  brig  on  her  baam  inds.  Ye 
wud  n't  ha'  found  a  heart  to  joke  in  the  laast,  an  y'  d  ha'  bin  there, 
Eyley  Murphy,  jist  thin.  Sich  a  big  misery  Pether  Healy  nivr r  saad 
afore  nor  since.  It 's  myself  though,  that 's  draam'd  it  out  an  out 
moor  nor  a  hunder  nights.  It 's  the  strength  o'  foorty  min  saam'd 
to  kim  to  me  that  minnit.  I  cotch'd  hoult  o'  the  wither  lanyards  ; 
an,  sure  it  is,  I  niver  lov'd  onything,  live  or  did,  so  wall  afore. 
The  poor  women  an  childher,  an  the  faable  ould  people  wern't  no 
match  for  it;  the  saa  stripp'd  'em  aff like  ould  rags,  an  play'd  wid 
the  poor  crathurs,  for  a  braaf  minnit,  like  so  mony  aggshells,  an  thin 
swally'd  'em  up.  Aiche  great  wave  saam'd  to  laap  into  the  ould 
Sayflower,  like  a  hungry  wolf  into  a  cradle,  showing  his  white 
taath,  an  saazing  his  halpless  prey.  There  was  Tom  Cregan,  your 
cousin,  that  I  spake  o',  Eyley,  a  hard  fate  it  was,  poor  Cregan !  he 
was  a  strang  an  a  bould  swimmer,  but  —  howsomiver  it 's  not  I 
that  '11  harrish  up  your  faalings,  Eyley  —  he  was  a  good  lad,  pace 
to  him  I  say."  —  Eyley  Murphy  had  buried  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  was  not  the  only  person  present,  who  had  become  deeply 
affected  at  Peter's  narration.  —  "  A  great  mony,"  continued  Peter 
Healy,  "  tried  to  raach  the  foortap  or  the  main  ;  na  aisy  matter  it 
wras ;  a  poor  felly  wud  craap  alang  the  rigging,  houlding  on  for  liis 
sowl,  for  life  is  swaat,  ye  all  know,  an  whin  he  'd  git  half  a  way, 
maybe,  or  moor,  or  was  jist  riddy  to  cotch  hoult  o'  the  tap  itself, 
the  wave  wud  kim  up  wid  him,  an  he  so  waak,  that  he  wud  let  go 
the  shroud  he  was  houlding,  but  the  saut  saa  wud  find  him  anather. 
—  I  was  able  to  look  round  an  saa  who  was  lift  upon  the  wrack. 
There  was  poor  Dolly  McCabe,  Jerry's  widdy,  she  was  barn  in 
County  Cark,  but  liv'd  wid  Jerry  haar  in  Lim'rick,  twalve  years  not 
moor.  She  was  immigritting  wid  her  brother  Larry  McQuaid. 


204  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

Poor  sowl,  she  was  a  wrack  herself,  so  tatter'd  an  bate  by  the 
waves,  an  she  was  houlding  on  to  a  ringbult,  wid  one  hand,  an  sup 
porting  her  two  little  gorstHC-?  wid  the  tother.  She  was  widin 
spaking  o'  me  ;  an  so,  whin  1  gut  a  canvanient  opportunity,  betune 
tli-/  waves,  I  call  d  to  her  an  ask'd  where  was  McQuaid.  She 
shook  her  head,  poor  crathur,  an  rowl'd  up  her  eyes,  but  she  cud 
na  spake,  maaning  that  he  was  £.ane  owerboord,  an  indaad  he  was. 
A  kail  o'  rope  was  naar  to  me,  so  I  sucsaded  in  cutting  aff  a  good 
pace  for  a  lashing,  an  throw  d  it  to  the  poor  sowl,  an  moor  nor  a 
fool  was  I  for  that  same.  The  poor  widdy,  ye  saa,  had  but  two 
Hands  onyhow  ;  an  wid  one  she  clang,  for  daar  life,  to  the  ringbult, 
an  hild  the  poor  childher  wid  the  tother.  How  thin  could  she  saaze 
the  rope,  that  I  was  sich  a  barbarous  villin  as  to  throw  to  her,  jist 
to  make  her  moor  sinsible  o'  her  own  dissolute  condition ;  though 
it 's  myself  wud  ha'  bin  hang'd  sure  wid  that  idintical  rope,  afore  I 
v/ud  ha  maan'd  sich  a  maan  thing  as  that,  ye  know,  to  onny  poor 
widdy.  But  quaar  enough  it  was,  that  rope  floated  ower  to  leward, 
an  was  saaz'd  by  ould  Barty  Morrow,  who  had  wark'd  his  way  up 
to  the  hoith  o'  the  lee  lanyards,  but  was  so  waak,  that  he  cud  nohow 
craap  ower  into  the  main  tap.  He  confissed  to  me  since,  that  'twas 
naarly  up  wid  him,  whin  he  raach'd  the  rope  ;  but  he  lash'd  his  poor 
buddy  wid  it  to  the  lanyard  onyhow.  The  saazing  o'  it  braatird 
life  into  him  ;  an  what 's  quaarer  nor  that,  this  same  rope  it  was,  that 
was  the  dith  o'  that  mon,  Barty  Morrow,  a  yaar  after.  For  he  was 
so  plaas'd  wid  the  rope  that  sav'd  him,  that  he  must  nades  save  the 
rope.  Whin  he  was  hang'd  i'  the  new  country  for  murther,  it  was 
agraable  to  his  faalings,  to  be  pit  up  wid  the  ould  rope,  an  a  raal 
oblaaging  jintilmon,  the  High  Sherry  o'  New  York,  tied  it  dacentl^ 
aboot  his  neck,  an  ould  Barty  Morrow  was  hang'd  presasely  accar 
ding  to  his  wushes."  —  "I  remimber  Dolly  McCabe  right  wall," 
said  Bob  Finnigan's  wife  ;  "  was  the  poor  crathur  sav'd,  Pether 
Healy?" — "An  ye  wull  have  it  thin,"  said  Peter  with  a  deep 
sigh ;  "  I  was  thinking  to  laad  ye  away  fro'  the  finish  o'  the  poor 
widdy,  by  tilling  ye  o'  ould  Barty  Morrow's  priservation  by  the  same 
rope  that  hang'd  him  a  yaar  after.  He,  that  was  sav'd  wid  a  rope 
was  hang'd  wid  a  rope,  much  like  the  ould  saws  it  is,  what  comos 
by  the  wather,  goes  by  the  wather ;  an  what  comes  ower  the  divil's 
back  ^oes  anunder  his  belly.  —  It_'s  o'  the  poor  widdy  an  the 
childher,  that  ye  'd  haar  me  spake.  It 's  your  wush  an  youi 
wull,  Betty  Finnigan,  an  ye  '11  not  be  after  blaaming  me  if  it  mur- 
Uiers  your  draams.  But  I  ?11  tak  a  dhrap  o'  whiskey  afore  I  bog-ins  ; 
tor  after  Ise  tould  it,  I  '11  not  do  the  like  agin  till  I  slaap  aff  the  reminv 
Urance  o'  that  poor  sowl."  —  After  Peter  had  taken  a  glass,  to  ena- 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  205 

hie  him  to  tell  the  story  the  better,  and  his  companions,  or  the 
majority,  had  done  the  same  thing  to  enable  them  to  hear  it  the  bet 
ter,  Peter  Healy  recommenced  as  follows :  —  "  It 's  rather  warm 
drinking  an  spaaking  so  lang  in  this  snug  room  it  is,  an  I  '11  jist 
fling  aff  my  coat.  — The  shtarm  was  netting  abating,  an  the  waves 
was  gitting  bigger,  an  claan  swaaps  they  made,  ye  may  belaave  me 
Yourself  Betty  Finnigan,  an  Eyley  Murphy,  knows  wall  enough 
what  a  swash  an  swirl  there  '11  be  i'  the  drain  bax,  whin  ye  's  pow 
ering  in  't  your  big  tub  o'  suds ;  an  how  an  aggshell  nor  a  praty  skin 
nor  ony  sich  thrifle  wull  bounce  up  an  down,  an  be  whisk'd  ar 
twirl'd  haals  ower  head  like  a  bit  butter  in  a  shtirraboot.  Jist  sup 
pose  a  drain  bax  as  big  as  the  ould  Sayflower,  an  a,  tub  o'  wather  to 
match,  an  all  the  powers  o'  the  saa  to  throw  it  aboord.  A  mon  as 
fat  as  Johnny  Mulligan,  the  brewer,  tass'd  into  sich  a  whirlypool, 
wud  be  na  moor  nor  a  praty  skin  or  the  like  o'  that.  — The  dee  was 
aboot  done  but  the  shtarm  kipt  on.  Coult  it  was  indaad  ;  an,  though 
it  was  me  that  had  lash'd  myself  toight  enough  to  the  lanyards,  I 
began  to  faar  I  should  na  saa  the  light  o'  anather  dee,  aven  if  the 
ould  Sayflower  shud  kaap  together.  How  the  poor  widdy  hild  her 
grip  o'  the  ringbult,  the  Lard  only  knows.  'Twas  love  an  faar  for 
the  poor  childher,  it  was,  that  gi'  the  lone  woman  the  strangth  o' 
foormen."  Peter  Healy  by  this  time  had  lashed  the  hearts  and 
the  thoughts  of  his  hearers  to  himself  and  his  story,  as  effectually  as 
he  himself  had  been  lashed  to  the  lanyards  during  the  tempest. 
There  was  no  longer  any  frivolous  disposition  to  interrupt  him  in 
his  narrative.  The  group  was  gathered  round  him,  most  of  them 
with  their  faces  as  thoroughly  bathed  with  salt  water,  as  were  those 
of  poor  Dolly  McCabe  and  her  children  upon  that  terrible  day. 
Even  Eyley  Murphy's  light  heart  was  thoroughly  subdued.  She 
sat  upon  a  dresser,  for  the  room  was  small ;  and,  as  Finnigan  said  in 
a  whisper  to  his  wife,  "  there  wor  cheers  enough  but  too  much 
company."  Eyley  was  sitting  with  her  body  bent  foiward,  her 
elbows  on  her  knees,  and  her  feet  resting  on  the  top  of  Peggy 
McNamarra's  chair,  the  wife  of  Michael,  the  broken  tailor,  one  of 
those,  who  intended  to  emigrate.  Her  mouth  was  wide  open,  the 
rears  streaming  down  her  rosy  cheeks,  and  her  hands  were  continu 
ally  employe!  in  throwing  back  her  locks  of  bright  yellow  hair 
which  interrupted  her  clear  vision  of  the  speaker ;  the  alternate  and 
unceasing  action  of  her  hands  resembling  that  of  some  skilful  pei- 
former  upon  the  double  jews-harp. — "  An  for  why  not  Pether," 
cried  Eyley  sharply,  stamping  her  right  foot  upon  the  top  of  Peg 
gy's  chair,  "  for  why  not  did  n't  ye  rin  an  halp  the  poor  crathur,  an 
you  a  mon?"  "  Don't  talk  to  nao  that  a  way,  Eyley  Murphy, 'j 


206  AN   IRISH  HEART. 

answered  Peter,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  coat  sleeve ;  "  bad  enough 
it  was  I  wush'd  to  help  the  poor  sowl ;  but  an  ye  was  lash'd  to  the 
tap  o'  the  church  staple,  wud  ye  be  after  jumping  affto  halp  a  poor 
buddy,  that  was  falling  to  the  ground,  your  own  self,  Eyley?  — 
Wall,  ye  saa  the  dee  was  gitting  moor  darker,  but  ye  cud  saa  ony- 
thing  claar  enough,  for  the  moon  was  ris  thin.  'Twas  an  up  an 
down  wind  it  was,  blowing  like  crazy  for  a  minnit,  an  thin  taking 
brith.  I  was  looking  at  Dolly  McCabe  an  the  childher,  whin  the 
wind  was  still,  an  I  heer'd  a  splash  in  the  wather  as  naar  to  me  as 
y'  are  yourself,  Rory  O'Donnohue.  'T  was  ould  Foster  as  they 
call'd  him,  one  o'  the  crew.  He  had  cut  aff  the  rim  o'  his  tarpaulin, 
by  that  same  token  I  know'd  him.  He  fell  fro'  the  main  tap  drunk, 
into  the  wather ;  he  ris  up  both  hands,  an  hild  on  to  his  jug  to  the 
last.  The  saa  did  n't  tak  lang  to  do  for  ould  Foster,  he  was  swal- 
ly'd  in  a  minnit  he  was.  —  The  wind  saam'd  to  be  shifting,  an  I 
cri'd  out  to  the  poor  widdy,  to  kaap  up  a  heart  an  hould  on.  She 
jist  ris  her  head,  an  I  saad  she  was  gitting  waaker  an  waaker.  The 
wind  wark'd  round  fro'  narth  to  aist  to  be  sure,  but  an  iller  wind 
was  it  nor  afore,  for  the  waves,  ye  saa,  kipt  rowling  an  tumbling  the 
ould  coorse  a  lang  time,  but  the  Sayflower  tuk  a  new  diriction,  so 
the  wather  kim  in  through  the  broken  bulwarks  on  the  starboord 
bow.  There  was  n't  a  saa  after  that,  but  made  a  claan  braach  ower 
the  poor  widdy  an  the  childher.  I  saad  a  great  wave  jist  riddy  to 
brik,  an  I  call'd  out  to  her  to  grip  the  ring,  an  hould  on  ;  — down  it 
rush'd  upon  us,  —  I  haar'd  Dolly  shraik,  —  an  whin  the  wather 
was  out  fro'  my  eyes,  I  look'd  that  a  way,  an  the  childher  was  gane. 
Och  !  Marcy  !  how  I  wush'd  for  the  darkest  night  i'  the  warld !  for 
the  braad,  bright  moon  show'd  me  the  hull  misery.  I  saad  the  leetle 
crathurs  swirl'd  round  an  knocked  agin  one  thing  nor  anather,  an 
thin  harried  affto  etarnity,  on  the  tap  o'  the  great  wave.  Him  that 
was  a  waakly  child  saam'd  did ;  but  the  bigger  gorsoon,  Jerry  it 
was,  nam'd  for  his  father,  he  was  a  strong  lad,  an  he  struggled  a 
bit;  but  he  was  na  moor  nor  a  feather,  in  a  gale  o'  wind,  he 
wasn't."  —  "David,  agra,  come  close  to  me,"  said  Kathleen 
Mashee,  almost  unconsciously,  to  her  little  boy. — "  Dolly  McCabe," 
continued  Peter,  "  was  a  good  wife  to  Jerry,  an  a  graaving  vdddy 
to  him  she  was,  an  she  saam'd  to  live  after,  only  for  Jerry's  child 
her,  nor  nothing  moor.  I  saa  the  murthering  proof  o'  that,  ye  '11 
belaave  me  ;  for,  no  sooner  was  the  childher  taken  fro'  her  that  a 
way,  than  she  lit  go  her  hoult,  an  gave  up  her  maak  spirit,  an  was 
lifted  away  upon  the  nixt  wave.  —  The  dark  clouds  soon  after  were 
gathering  ower  the  moon  I  was  gitting  coulder  an  had  ate  netting 
now  for  a  lang  time.  A  Kind  o'  slaapy  faaling  was  coining  pwei 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  207 

mo,  an  all  the  blud  o'  my  buddy  saam'd  to  be  going  bum  to  the 
heart  o'  me,  for  the  last  time.  Jist  thin  Ise  heer'd  a  small  voice 
calling  to  me,  so  it  saam'd,  '  Pether '  it  sed.  So  I  listen'd,  an  not 
hearing  it  immadiately,  I  thought  'twas  owing  to  my  baing  waak  an 
dispeerited.  But  soon  it  saam'd  to  come  agin.  'Pether  Healy! 

—  Pether  Healy!  —  Pether  Healy!'  —  'Twas  a  sart  o' a  woman 
ish  voice."  —  "  'Twas  the  Banshee  !"  said  Peggy  McNamarra. — 
"  The  Banshee !"  replied  Peter,  "  what  sart  o'  a  Banshee  wud  that 
be,  an  I  alive  an  at  your  sarvice  Peggy  entirely,  at  this  prisint  time? 
no  it  was  n't.     It  was  Carrol  Sweeny,  that  thaaf,  the  leetle  watch- 
roaker,  that  was  the  tinnant  o'  moor  min  in  Lim'rick  nor  he  iver  ped 
'.int  to  ;  'twas  that  same  I  till  ye.     He  was  nearer  to  me  nor  your- 
fcslf,  an  I  niver  know'd  it.     He  was  rowl'd  up  i'  the  ould  sail 
an  he  know'd  it  was  I,  bekase  he  haar'd  me  spaking  to  the  poor 
widdy  ;  an  I  know'd  it  was  himself  by  this  token,  that  he  till'd  me 
eo.     Whin  I  sed,  *  Who  's  spaking?'  — '  It 's  Carrol  Sweeny,'  sed 
he.  — '  An  is  't  yourself?'  sed  I.  —  *  Ye  may  jist  say  that,'  sed  he. 

—  'An  what 's  your  wull?'  sed  I.  —  Said  he,  '  I  coiifiss  t'  ye,'  — 
an  thin  he  stapp'd.  —  As  he  was  the  big  thaaf  that  he  was,  I  raaly 
bolaav'd,  as  there  was  na  praast  aboord,  he  was  going  to  confiss  his 
offinces.     «  WulP  sed  I,  '  Carrol,  mak  a  claan  brist.'  — '  Pether' 
sed  he,  '  I  confiss  t'  ye,  Ise  faar'd  my  bit  chist  o'  watch-maker's  tools 
wull  be  purty  much  ruin'd  by  the  saut  wather,  entirely.' — Faable 
as  I  was,  I  gi'  it  to  him.     '  Hut !'  sed  I,  '  ye  riglar  thaaf,  that  y'  are, 
is  it  in  ye  mon  to  be  spaking  this  a  way !     Y'  are  jist  in  etarnity,' 
sed  I,  '  an  they  '11  na  be  wanting  ye  to  tinker  their  timekaapers 
there,  Ise  rickon.' 

"  The  wind  had  naarly  gane  ;  an  by  the  brick  o'  dee,  the  saa  was 
aisier.  We  began  to  git  a  glimpse  o'  ache  other,  the  small  sprink 
ling  o'  live  buddies  that  was  spared.  The  captin  an  mate  was 
drown ded  in  the  cabin.  Niver  did  I  cry,  '  Lard  be  good  t'  us,'  fro' 
the  very  pit  o'  my  heart,  so  as  I  did  thin,  whin  I  saad  Jack  Coffin 
an  Abel  Judson  alive  an  coming  down  fro'  the  foor  tap.  *  Healy,1 
sed  Jack  Coffin,  whin  he  saad  me,  '  Gad  has  spared  ye  it  saams.' 
'  Indaad  he  has  sir,'  sed  I.  *  Wall'  sed  he,  '  Healy,  we  must  try 
to  save  ourselves.  Where  's  the  braad-axe?'  — He  was  thin  coming 
down  the  shrouds,  an  had  got  jist  down  so  far  as  Jo  Muncrief,  who 
had  lash'd  himself  i'  the  rigging.  '  'T  was  Muncrief  had  the  braad- 
axe  last,'  sed  I,  '  he  '11  spake  t'  ye  sir,  where  he  pit  it.'  — «  No,  he 
won't.  Healy,'  sed  Jack  Coffin,  '  he  '11  spake  no  moor.'  —  Ye  saa  he 
was  did.  So  they  kim  down  an  began  to  hunt  for  the  braad-axe,  an 
Carrol  Sweeny,  that  I  niver  respicted  afore,  was  the  mon  that  found 
it.  I  had  got  loose  fro'  the  lashing,  an  we  tuk  turns  to  cut  awaj 


208  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

the  masts.  By  the  same  token,  it  was,  that  ould  Barty  Morrow  ac 
the  rist,  what  was  alive,  very  prudently  crapt  down  fro'  the  tap.  So 
we  cut  away  the  weather  lanyards  first,  an  as  the  masts  wud  na  go 
ower,  we  used  the  braad-axe  a  bit,  an  prisintly  away  wint  the  two 
mast  wid  a  crash,  ower  the  side,  an  the  ould  Sayflower  sot  up 
straight  agin  upon  the  wather.  Waak  as  we  was,  we  begun  to 
think  o'  the  pumps  agin,  an  to  our  great  joy  was  it,  Carrol  Sweeny, 
who  was  diving  after  his  chist  o'  watch-maker's  tools,  brought  up  a 
bit  o'  baaf,  an  a  small  sack  o'  seed  praties,  that  Jo  Muncrief,  pace 
to  him,  was  bringing  out  to  plant  i'  the  new  country  ;  an  as  one  c' 
the  wather-casks  was  onhart,  we  had  a  maal  o'  raw  mate  an  praties, 
an  a  dhrink  o'  wather  ;  one  praty  a  pace  an  a  bit  mate  that  Jack 
Coffin  cut  aff  for  ache  o'  the  company.  Tharty-foor  out  o'  moor 
nor  one  hunder  an  saxty  sowls!  An  it  wasn't  for  the  hunger  o' 
starvation,  we  cud  n't  ate  a  bit  or  drank  a  bit,  for  jist  as  we  was 
pitting  the  first  pace  o'  raw  mate  int'  our  mouths,  there  comes  float 
ing  out  o'  the  foorcastle  that  poor  young  thing,  Judy  O'Keefe,  jist 
married  she  was,  too  sick  to  laave  her  cot,  an  Morris,  her  husband, 
wud  shtay  wid  her  to  the  last.  So  whin  the  wather  rush'd  in,  they 
was  both  drownded,  an  they  was  lock'd  in  ache  ather's  arms,  whin 
they  floated  out  togither. — Wall,  we  filt  a  bit  stranger  for  that 
maal,  maan  though  it  was,  so  we  wint  to  pumping  and  pitting  up  a 
jerrymast.  We  hadn't  wark'd  moor  nor  an  hour  afore  Judson 
shouted  'land  ahead  1J  An  indaad  it  was  so,  but  it  puzzled  'em  to 
till  what  land  it  was.  Howsomiver,  the  wind,  what  there  was,  and 
the  tide  like  enough,  brought  us  naarer  and  naarer  t'  it ;  and  aboct 
foor  o'clack  the  ould  Sayflower  wint  head  first,  thump,  upon  a  great 
white  baach.  'T  was  myself  that  rin  straight  to  the  ind  o'  the  bow- 
sprit,  that  raach'd  up  ower  the  shore,  and  right  glad  was  I,  for  I 
had  n't  bin  so  far  up  the  country  for  naar  a  hunder  dees.  But,  I 
saad  nathing  moor  nor  sand  ivery  way,  only  a  shmall  bit  cabin,  naar 
the  place  we  rin  ashore.  —  '1st  Amirica?'  sed  I.  — '  Aye,  aye,' 
said  Jack  Coffin,  '  it 's  Cape  Cod,'  sed  he,  '  an  ye  may  bliss  the 
Lard,  that  the  Sayflower  did  n't  come  on  wid  a  strang  wind  and  a 
hivy  saa.'  — - '  What 's  that  bit  cabin,  Maaster  Coffin  ?'  sed  I;  that 
same  was  the  only  habitation  I  saad  amang  the  haaps  o'  sand. 
'T  was  widin  a  praty's  throw  o'  myself.  So  he  toult  me  't  was  pit 
jist  there  for  the  poor  sailors  in  distress.  How  they  cud  till  sa  pre- 
sasely  where  the  oult  Sayflower  wud  rin  ashore,  an  pit  the  bit  house 
jist  there,  the  likes  o'  me  niver  cud  till. 

"After  we  had  risted  ower  night,  i'  the  leetle  cabin,  we  waded 
mony  miles  through  the  daap  sand.  If  we  had  n't  ate  up  poor  Ju 
Muncrief 's  seed  praties*  be  cud  n't  got  ony  kind  o'  a  crop  fro'  'eca 


AN   IRISH  HEART.  209 

jist  there,  ye  may  depind.  After  great  fatague  we  raach'd  the 
town,  as  they  call'd  it.  I  niver  saad  onything  so  maan  in  all  Ire 
land.  Wall,  ye  see,  I  was  my  own  mon,  in  a  fraa  country  onyhow. 
There  's  not  a  bit  soil  widin  two  hunder  miles  o'  Lim'rick  sa  maan 
as  what  I  saad  in  Amiriky.  Mony  a  mile  was  it  we  wint  amost  up 
to  our  knaas  i'  the  sand,  an  not  a  mullen  stalk  did  we  saa,  upon  the 
tap  o'  which  a  poor  broken-hearted  grasshopper  might  sit,  wid  taars 
in  his  eyes,  an  charp  all  dee  aboot  netting  to  ate.  Whin  we  got  to 
the  cintre  o'  the  town,  an  'twas  not  Pether  Healy  cud  till  where 
that  was,  I  saad  a  shmall  shebeen  it  saam'd.  I  walk'd  in,  an  says 
I  to  a  quaar  leetle  felly,  that  was  tinding,  — '  a  gill  o'  your  whiskey 
if  ye  plase.'  Wall,  instid  o'  drawing  the  liquor,  he  stud,  showing 
his  white  taath,  an  for  all  the  warld,  grinning  to  me,  like  a  Cheshire 
cat.  '  A  dhrap  o'  the  crathur  sir,'  says  I,  an  if  I  did  n't  draw  up  ?i 
bit,  an  look  a  leetle  offinded,  it  was  n't  my  own  self  onyhow.  So, 
upon  that,  he  opens  a  windy,  an  bawls  out,  *  Ginral !  —  Ginral !  — 
Square  Taber !  won't  ye  come  in,  haar  's  a  customer  wants  so'thing.' 
— '  Ax  him  to  tarry,'  sed  that  other,  '  till  I  drive  a  nail  or  two  in 
Doctor  Coggin's  cult's  fut.'  Na  moor  nor  two  minnits  it  was,  afore 
in  comes  a  felly,  what  look'd  a  dale  moor  like  a  blacksmith,  nor  nr.j 
ginral  I  iver  sot  eyes  on  in  Ireland.  — '  What 's  your  wush1?'  says 
he.  — '  A  gill  o'  whiskey  was  it,'  says  I.  —  '  We  kaap  a  timpentoe 
shtoor,' says  he.  —  'Wall,'  says  I,  'I  doesn't  care  aboot  taking 
ony  o'  that  to-dee,'  for  I  didn't  thin  comprehind  his  maaning.  *  bvf, 
I  'd  like  a  dhrap  o'  brandy  or  porther,  an  ye  hasn't  the  whiskey." 
—  Then  he,  an  the  small  spalpeen  laugh'd  out,  to  show  their  de 
cency,  like  a  couple  o'  bull  calves  that  had  jist  last  their  raison.  S* 
I  walk'd  out  an  tried  three  other  shebeens,  an  got  the  same  bad  luck 
presasely  Whin  I  ax'd  for  a  dhrap  o'  whiskey,  ache  one  sed  he 
kipt  a  timperance  shtoor.  Jack  Coffin,  whin  I  saad  him  agin,  toult 
me  all  aboot  it :  sed  he,  '  Ye  '11  not  find  a  dhrap  o'  shpirit  for  sale  in 
the  hull  county.'  Think  o'  that,  Robert  Finnigan,  an  that  same  a 
fraa  country  into  the  bargin.  Bad  luck  t'  it,  say  I.  —  It 's  moor  nor 
a  month's  wark  I  had  for  notting,  trying  to  git  a  leetle  wark  for  ony 
wages  at  all  at  all.  I  got  a  place  at  last  wid  a  widdy  leddy,  but  I 
did  n't  shtay  moor  nor  a  couple  o'  hours.  I  wint  to  her  sarvice 
aboot  nine  o'clack  i'  the  marning,  an  the  maid  rin  out  aboot  twalve, 
to  say  the  ould  leddy  cud  n't  imploy  me  na  langer.  I  ax'd  if  I  had 
offinded  her ;  the  young  woman  sed  LO,  but  her  maastress  had  bin 
raading  an  account  o'  an  Irish  murther,  an  wud  n't  have  ony  o'  my 
country  slaaping  anunder  her  roof,  for  the  hull  warld.  Bad  luck 
gaam'd  to  shtick  to  the  back  o'  me  like  a  pitch  plaster  onyhow.  At 
last  I  kim  upon  a  raal  jintilmon,  a  lawyer  he  was.  I  h?,ar'd  him 
VOL.  i.  18* 


210  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

defi/id  a  countrymen  o'  ours  for  staaling  a  cloak  ;  an  tie  did  the  thing 
so  dacently,  an  spake  sich  nate  an  swate  things  o'  ould  Ireland,  that 
I  rin  up  to  him,  whin  he  was  laaving  the  coort,  an  toult  him  I  shud 
like  to  sarve  sich  a  mon  as  his  honor,  for  jist  no  wages  at  all.  So 
he  rin  me  up  an  down  wid  a  hawk's  eye  ;  '  What 's  your  name, 
sir?'  sed  he.  — '  Pether  Healy,  plase  your  honor,'  sed  I.  — '  Wall,' 
sed  he,  *  your  tarms  are  purty  raisonable  entirely,  so  ye  may  come 
to-morrow  marning.'  So  I  wint  ye  saa,  an  did  my  bist  for  his 
honor,  not  forgitting  myself,  o'  coorse,  as  I  was  to  have  no  riglai 
wages.  After  the  first  waak,  he  began  to  hint ;  an  ivry  dee,  mooi 
nor  liss,  he  kipt  a  hinting,  till  I  lift  him  ;  an  I  niver  resaaved  a 
single  farthing  o'  him,  that  is,  o'  his  own  fraa  wull."  —  "Good 
Pether,"  said  Eyley  Murphy,  who  had  quite  recovered  her  spirits, 
"what  was  that  same  the  lawyer  kipt  a  hinting?"  —  "Och!" 
replied  Peter  Healy,  "  he  had  a  nagurish  way  wid  him,  for  a  jintil- 
iuon,  an  he  kipt  a  hinting  all  sorts  o'  dishagraable  things."  —  "An 
Siave  ye  purtiklar  objictions,  Pether,  to  tilling  a  buddy  what  he  kipt 
H  hinting  aboof?"  rejoined  Eyley  Murphy,  with  a  waggish  laugh. 
"  Not  in  the  laast  Eyley,"  answered  Peter,  "  he  toult  me,  the  villin 
that  he  was,  that  I  was  a  raal  Irish  liar  an  a  thaaf  into  the  bargin. 
After  that  I  had  too  much  shpirit  to  sarve  him  ony  longer.  I  wull 
ooly  say,  that  if  Amiriky  isn't  the  maanest  country  in  the  warld, 
pvy  name  's  not  Pether  Healy ;  so  I  '11  jist  pit  on  my  coat,  if  ye 
j.-lase,  an  haar  what  ye  can  say  Maaster  McCloskey  to  the  con- 

aviary." 

"Thanks  to  ye,  Pether,"  said  John  McCloskey,  "for  ye 've 
icult  as  an  afficting  story  onyhow  ;  that 's  na'  to  be  contradeected 
na  time  o'  dee  ;  an  maybe  it 's  no  less  nor  the  truth,  the  hull  o'  it. 
Nivertheliss  ye  '11  forgi'  me  for  tilling  ye  the  plain  thing,  — ye  knows 
na  moor  aboot  Amiriky,  nor  my  oult.cap  haar,  nor  so  much  as  that 
nather  ;  bekase  ye  saa  that  same  has  bin  lagues  ower  the  new  coun 
try,  whin  it 's  yourself  has  been  inches  maybe.  'T  was  bitter  luck 
nor  yourself  we  had.  Eighteen  dees  maarely  was  we  fro'  Cark  to 
the  city  o'  New  Yark,  an  a  most  agraable  time  we  had,  ye  may  be 
sure.  Thraa  Roman  Catholic  praasts  was  aboord,  beside  foor  young 
iintilmen,  Jisuits  they  was.  They  kipt  their  own  sacret  purty  wall 
onyhow.  Father  Mundowny  lit  myself  int'  it,  whin  we  had  bin 
taking  a  dhrap  porther  togither.  Ye  'd  no  praast  aboord  the  Say- 
tiower,  I  think  ye  sed  ;  maybe  your  throubles  was  prosading  fro' 
that  same.  — The  city  o'  New  Yark  is  one  o'  the  finest  cities  i'  the 
warM,  i  'm  thinking ;  an  it 's  much  the  same  wid  the  other  great 
cities  i'  the  new  country,  an  there  's  plenty  o'  'em.  Mate  is  chaaper 
a  dale  nor  it  is  in  Ireland,  an  so  is  maal.  Praties  grows,  whiles 


AN  IHISH  HEART.  211 

y'  are  slaaping,  o'  their  own  fraa  wull.  As  for  the  crathur,  a  mon 
may  be  as  gay  as  a  bag  full  o'  fleas  an  did  drunk  into  the  bargin  for 
tlie  maarest  thrifle.  Ye  can't  go  a  rad,  mon,  widout  rinning  agin  a 
shebeen  ;  an,  bekase  land  jist  in  the  city  is  so  daar,  an  there  's  no 
room  for  sa  mony  shebeens,  as  the  public  good  requires,  they  pit 
rnoor  nor  the  half  o'  'em  anunder  ground.  There  ye  '11  git  the 
ciathur  in  all  its  farms.  'T  is  n't  in  sich  a  fraa  country  as  that,  ye  '11 
saa  a  poor  felly,  like  your  warthy  uncle,  Mr.  Finnigan,  that 's  in 
glowry,  lang  ago,  rinning  for  daar  life  wid  his  still  in  his  arms,  pur 
sued  by  a  bloodthirsty  exciseman,  or  some  o'  his  maan  understhrap- 
pers.  It 's  a  rospictable  bisness  in  Amiriky  to  mak  the  crathur,  an 
to  sill  it,  na  impachement  o'  your  own  calling  haar  Mr.  Finnigan. 
Raal  gadly  paple  it  is,  o'  the  most  sober  lives  an  conversations,  what 
siiis  it  an  maks  it  too.  Dacons  mak  the  bist,  an  they  thinks  the 
Sabbadee  is  jist  the  time  to  mak  the  suparior  quality."  —  "John 
McCloskey,  did  ye  say  dagons  mak  it?"  inquired  Eyley  Murphy.  — 
l<  -Mo  I  didn't,  I  sed  dacons  mak  it  —  whoosh  !  ye  saucy  calleen," 
continued  McCloskey,  perceiving  Eyley's  meaning,  as  the  tittering 
of  tne  women  attracted  his  ear,  "  ye  tak's  a  dhrap  now  an  thin  your 
self,  maybe."  —  "What  sart  o'  dacons  wull  they  be  sir,"  said 
Kathleen  Mashee,  "  to  forgit  Gad's  law,  an  mak  the  crathur  o'  the 
So,bbadee  ?  It 's  the  blissed  Jasus  that  repates  the  law,  thou  shalt 
do  na  manner  o'  wark,  thou  an  thy  son,  an  thy  daughter,  thy  cattle 
an  the  shtranger  that  is  widin  thy  gates."  —  "Wall,  wall,"  said 
McCloskey.  "  It 's  jist  this  a  way  they  manage  it ;  they  lights  a 
great  fire  o'  Saturdee  night,  in  the  shtill-'ouse,  an  it 's  the  fire 
sure  that  warks  o'  the  Sabbadee  onyhow,  an  not  the  dacons  nor 
their  sarvants.  Whin  its  all  o'  a  blaze,  'twud  be  moor  like  wark- 
ing  to  pit  it  out  nor  to  lit  it  barn.  Na  doot,  there  's  some  felly,  that 
throws  on  a  bit  stick,  to  kaap  the  fire,  an  maybe,  he  taks  a  dhrap  o' 
the  crathur,  now  an  thin,  jist  to  saa  an  it 's  naar  being  a  good  crathur 
or  no.  Now,  an  it 's  the  Lard's  wull  he  shud  do  so,  it 's  na  other 
buddy's  bisness  sure  ;  an  it 's  na  the  Lard's  wull,  why  thin  the  felly, 
that  same,  is  the  Divil's  sarvant  o'  coorse,  an  not  onyway  the 
dacon's."  —  "  An  ye  'd  bin  a  lawyer,  John,"  said  Rory  O'Donno- 
hue,  "  ye  'd  got  poor  Pether  aff  at  his  thrial,  there  's  no  doot  o"  it." 
—  "  Thanks  to  ye,  Maaster  Rory,  for  your  good  opinion  o1  my  poor 
abeelitie.s.  It 's  na  aisy  for  an  oult  dog  to  larn  new  thricks  ye  know. 
An  I  was  n*  your  own  yaars,  I  might  be  after  gitting  an  insight  o' 
tli*,  Jaw.  'Twud  come  to  me  o'  its  own  accard,  I  'm  thinking,  for 
thf-r*  ^  a  jtlaiii  conniction  betune  that  same  an  my  own  profission  ; 
an  'twud  be  ronvanient  to  me  in  my  dalings.  Ise  doing  purty  wait' 
nowsoimyei.  If- 's  aisier  pitting  afF  an  ould  broken  winded  'orse  i' 


212  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

the  new  country  nor  it  is  in  Ireland. — Maybe,  those  amang  ye, 
that 's  half  a  mind  to  mak  a  bit  thrial  o'  Amiriky,  faars  it 's  sll 
strangers  ye  's  going  to  find  there.  Jist  the  contraary  it  is.  Whiii 
the  ship  we  wint  ower  in  hault  in  to  the  wharf,  ye  'd  thought,  a-i 
ye  'd  bin  there,  that  ye  was  in  Cark  or  Dublin,  for  all  the  warid ; 
sich  powers  o'  Irish  men  an  Irish  women  were  crowding  down,  to 
saa  oult  acquaintances,  an  haar  news  fro'  the  Emerald  Isle,  an  to 
tinder  their  sarvices.  Our  paple  are  growing  fast  i'  that  country, 
depind.  What  with  their  own  incraase  an  the  constant  immigrating 
fro'  all  parts  o'  Ireland,  there  's  na  doot,  in  the  minds  o'  sinsible 
calkillaters,  but  we  may  possiss  the  hull  country  one  dee.  Aa 
isn't  it  that  wud  be  na  moor  nor  it  shud  be  after  all?  Ye  saa  the 
Amirikans  staal  'd  that  same,  ivry  inch  o'  it,  fro'  the  rid  men. 
They  wud  staal  away  the  poor  Indians'  brains  wid  the  aid  o'  the 
crathur,  an  thin  fix  a  quar'll  on  'em,  aboot  a  hatchet,  or  bit  iron,  cr 
shtring  o'  bades ;  thin  go  to  war,  an  baat  the  poor  rid  fellies,  bam 
their  haggards  an  wigwams,  an  the  like  o'  that.  After  bairig  cLiv 
back  i'  the  wilderness,  the  poor  crathurs  wud  sue  for  pace,  an  mak 
a  thraty,  an  sill  their  land  an  the  graves  o'  their  forbares,  for  jiat  as 
much  gunpowther  an  whiskey  as  the  Amirikans  plased  to  gi'  'era. 
So  they  staal'd  away  their  tirritory.  An  maybe  it's  Gad's  wuJl, 
that  we  shud  staal  it  fro'  them  after  all ;  an  if  it  be  his  wull,  thern  's 
na  country  't  wud  be  more  agraable  to  staal ;  that 's  all  I  wull  say, 
[  '11  be  plased,  homsomiver,  to  spake  to  ony  quistions  ye  wuil  pit 
to  me  aboot  Amiriky." 

"  I  wud  jist  ask  ye,  John  McCloskey,"  said  Betsy  Finnigan, 
"  aren't  there  na  protestant  Irish  i'  the  new  country?"  —  "  Hiritics 
ye  maan,  —  yis,  like  enough  ;  —  but  I  big  your  pardon,  I  remimber 
now  ye 's  that  way  o'  thinking  yourself."  —  "What  ye  spake  o' 
the  chapeness  o'  maal  an  mate's  incouraging  indaad  it  is,"  said 
Patrick  Murphy,  "but  how  is 't  wid  sich  other  shmall  matters 
a  poor  buddy  must  have?"  —  "  He  's  in  na  hurry  to  wait  lang  for 
your  reply,"  said  Eyley ;  "it's  o'  the  crathur  he  wud  haar  ye 
spake  ;  for  the  warld's  sake  gi'  him  a  spaady  answer  McCloske)." 
— "  Swaat  bad  luck  t' ye,  Eyley  Murphy,"  said  her  husband, 
"  an  your  ligs  were  as  lang  as  your  rid  rag,  ye  'd  na  want  shtiJts 
ony  how."  Eyley  was  uncommonly  short,  and  she  joined  heartily 
in  the  laugh,  which  had  been  thus  turned  upon  herself.  —  "The 
good  crathur,"  replied  McCloskey,  "is  as  daar  a  erathur  in  one 
sense,  in  Amiriky  as  'tis  in  Ireland,  but  it 's  a  ch«nu  nraihur  !/•«• 
Ye  niver  teest  the  excise  in  your  whiskey,  though  yr  has  10  ir-v 
for't  onyhow  in  oult  Ireland.  The  liquor  's  na  the  better  tor  rbat. 
Now  i'  the  fraa  country,  whin  the  crathur  crapes  into  y« 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  213 

it 's  more  agraable,  bekase  it 's  a  fiaa  crathur,  an  na  bothered  wi* 
taxation."  —  "John  McCloskey,"  said  Neddy  Faden  the  tailor, 
"  wall  ye  be  so  oblaaging  as  to  sittle  a  small  doot,  that 's  perplexing 
eiiC,  bekase  o'  the  contradeectory  shtories  aboot  Lim'rick?  Ould 
McNaney,  that  sarved  under  Burgain  it  was,  he  toult  me  yisterdee 
the  new  country's  na  place  for  a  mon  o'  my  profission ;  why  he  ses 
be  '&  saan  the  raal  Amirikaners,  by  hunders,  moor  naked  nor  iver 
they  was  barn."  —  "  Och  !  the  wheezing  oult  crowker  that  he  is," 
replied  McCloskey;  " he  maans  to  desaave  ye,  Neddy.  It  's  o'  the 
*avagers  na  doot,  that  the  oult  felly  spakes  to  ye.  Na  faar  for  ony 
mon  o'  your  line  ;  but  Ise  jist  gi'  ye  a  pace  o'  advice  :  the  paple  o' 
the  new  country  chaafely  are  not  maarly  sharp,  but  paked  they  are, 
more  nor  ony  nadle.  So  ye  Tl  be  careful  in  respict  o'  your  cabbag 
ing,  Neddy,  to  do  it  na  so  boultly,  as  ya've  bin  accustomed  haar  in 
Ireland."  —  "  Thanks  to  ye  John,  for  mintioning  that  same  ;  did  ye 
nolish  the  cut  o'  coats  an  braaches  whin  ye  was  there?"  —  "I 
can't  say  that  I  did  sa  very  purtiklar,  Neddy ;  but,  wid  your  shaars, 
there  's  na  faar  o'  the  like  o'  you.  —  An  now  if  ony  o'  ye  's  a  mind 
for  th'  ixparimint,  there  's  a  fine  ship  o'  thraa  hunder  tons  goes  nixt 
vraak  fro'  Cark  t'  Amiriky  dirict ;  and  so,  as  it 's  jist  after  an  'orse 
lie  going  to  daal  for  wid  Jerry  McGaw  the  baaf  butcher,  I  '11  be 
tailing  my  laave.  Shtip  this  a  way  Mr.  Finnigan  an  ye  plase,- 
>*e  '11  be  sittling  for  the  crathur."  —  McCloskey  departed,  leaving 
his  auditors  variously  disposed.  Thaddy  Mashee,  prompted  by  his 
natural  disposition  for  novelty,  was  strongly  inclined  to  emigrate ; 
but  the  more  cautious  counsels  of  Kathleen  persuaded  him  to 
remain  and  try  his  fortune  in  Limerick.  "  We  '11  be  young  enough 
Thaddy,"  said  she,  "  to  go  ower  a  yaar  hince  nor  moor,  an  it  be 
naadful.  But,  whin  we  're  claan  gane,  't  will  na  be  sa  aisy  maybe, 
to  git  back  an  try  your  hand  at  the  carpinter's  thrade  haar  in 
Lim'rick.  Howsomeiver,  an  your  heart 's  i'  the  mather,  daar 
Thaddy,  Ise  go  alang  wid  ye  onyhow." 

Robert  Finnigan's  wife  had  conceived  a  friendship  for  Kathleen, 
partly  perhaps  because  they  were  of  the  same  opinion  in  religious 
matters,  bat  mainly  on  account  of  her  attractive  and  amiable  quali 
ties.  By  the  aid  of  Betsy  Finnigan,  the  Mashees  were  enabled  to 
jbrain  some  cheap  apartments  in  her  neighborhood.  Thaddy  was 
successful  in  his  efforts  to  associate  himself,  on  profitable  terms, 
with  c,  respectable  carpenter ;  from  whom  in  the  course  of  twelve 
m«»nii>.  \m  acquired  an  unusual  amount  of  skill  and  information. — 
l)».Yi-j  .\L?(.' ready  was  now  about  four  years  of  age,  and  he  was 
eoj.suutiy  expressing  his  wish  for  such  a  playmate,  in  the  shape  of 
a  brother,  or  sister,  as  little  Bob  Finnigan  had  ;  and  his  wishes  weie 


214  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

abundantly  realized,  for,  about  this  period,  his  mother  gave  birth  to 
twins,  one  of  which  died  on  the  second  day  after  its  birth.  T}-.« 
otner,  a  healthy  little  girl,  she  was  enabled  to  rear.  Thaddy  had 
work  enough  ;  both  himself  and  Kathleen  as  well  as  their  little  onts 
were  in  the  possession  of  excellent  health  ;  she  had  about  her  a  littio 
circle  of  protestant  friends  and  acquaintances ;  and  ample  opportu 
nities  in  Limerick  for  the  enjoyment  of  religious  worship,  according 
to  her  faith.  Yet  Kathleen  was  not  entirely  happy.  In  the  lan 
guage  of  an  Italian  proverb,  "  There  is  a  skeleton  in  every  house." 
Love,  devoted  and  undying,  never  took  stronger  hold  upon  the  fibies 
of  a  woman's  heart  than  upon  hers.  She  lived,  next  to  God  an<i 
eternity,  for  her  husband  and  her  children";  and  he  was  not  deficient 
in  a  deep-rooted  affection  for  them.  But  the  heart  is  deceitful  above 
measure.  Thaddy's  affections  began  to  be  divided  between  Kathleen 
and  another  object.  In  the  society  of  his  fond  wife,  he  became  more 
and  more  silent  and  abstracted,  from  day  to  day.  This  rival  that 
was  insidiously  stealing  away  his  heart  from  its  legitimate  proprie 
tress,  levied  increasing  demands  upon  his  time ;  and,  in  return  fo» 
the  pleasures  of  sin,  exacted  from  the  hands  of  this  infatuated  wor 
shipper  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  that  product  of  his  daily  toil,  wi;S 
which  he  had  hitherto  supported  his  devoted  wife  and  dependent 
children.  No  word  of  direct  crimination  had  ever  escaped  the  iipa 
of  Kathleen.  Now  and  then,  her  silent  tear,  or  unbidden  sigh, 
operating  upon  a  heart  sufficiently  conscious  of  its  obliquity,  would 
drive  him  to  a  defence  or  palliation,  before  any  charge  had  been 
preferred  against  him.  Anticipating,  from  the  hurried  meal  or 
other  circumstance,  a  separation  for  the  long  winter's  evening,  she 
would  sometimes  say,  "Daar  mon,  an  ya '11  shtay  at  hum,  we'll 
try  to  make  it  a  plisant  fireside  onyhow,  an  the  gorsoon's  got  out 
his  chuck  straas  d'ye  mind;  leetle  David  says,  ye  don't  play  wid 
him  as  ye  used  to,  Thaddy."  —  On  such  occasions,  he  would  some 
times  forego  his  anticipated  enjoyment  elsewhere,  and  remain  at 
home,  with  a  reluctance,  however,  imperfectly  concealed.  Still 
Kathleen  had  no  occasion  for  jealousy,  in  the  common  acceptation 
of  that  word.  She  knew  well  enough  that  Thaddy  loved  her  alone 
of  all  women.  No  human  being,  as  she  believed,  and  with  good 
reasoi  ,  could  estrange  the  affections  of  her  husband,  or  induce  him 
to  forget  his  marriage  vows,  or  shrink  from  his  domestic  respon 
sibilities.  What  then  had  produced  this  apparent  alienation  ?  What 
had  taught  him  to  turn  away,  night  after  night,  from  his  o~«v>  fire 
side,  and  to  prefer  any  society  to  that  of  a  fond  wife  aw!  ihc  off 
spring  of  their  mutual  affection?  In  the  words  of  Kathletm  Jiursrlf, 
when  justifying  or  at  least  palliating  his  conduct,  in  the  very  face 
eten  of  his  own  self-crimination,  —  "  It  was  notting  but  the  crathur." 


AN 'IRISH  HEART.  21 

By  this  ingenions  distinction,  Kathleen  transferred  tne  criminality 
of  drunkenness  from  the  idol  of  her  soul  to  an  agency,  beyond  the 
pale  of  her  husband's  responsibility.  If  this  agreeable  self-delusion 
should  seem  inconsistent  with  her  apparent  good  sense,  upon  other 
occasions,  we  can  offer  no  other  solution  of  the  mystery,  than  such 
as  has  been  transmitted  from  age  to  age,  in  the  proverb,  that  love  is 
blind.  Kathleen's  was  not  only  blind,  but  deaf,  for  she  would  hear 
nothing  to  Thaddy's  disparagement ;  and  dumb,  for  she  replied  not 
to  his  occasional  abuse ;  or,  if  ever,  by  two  brief  words,  "  Daar 
Thaddy!"  uttered  in  tones  of  gentleness  and  love. 

"  The  Crathur!"  What  a  comprehensive  synonyme  for  the 
Devil's  vicegerent  upon  earth  !  The  elixir  of  misery !  In  fashion 
able  life,  among  the  opulent  and  the  luxurious,  drunkenness,  ,and  it  is 
by  no  means  an  utter  stranger  in  those  elevated  walks,  comes  not 
in  that  tremendous  shape,  in  which  it  haunts  and  scourges  its 
wretched  victims,  in  the  habitations  of  the  poor.  To  those  who 
dwell  in  palaces,  or  who  are  busily  engaged  in  commercial  or  pro 
fessional  pursuits,  the  drunken  father  or  the  drunken  child,  the 
drunken  husband  or  the  drunken  wife,  though  an  object  of  loathing 
and  disgust,  brings  not  the  whole  fabric  of  domestic  happiness  to  the 
ground.  The  drunken  inmate,  in  whatever  relation,  can  be  per 
mitted  to  put  on  and  sleep  off  the  brute,  in  a  separate  apartment. 
Expensive  pleasures,  and  splendid  castles,  and  gorgeous  furniture, 
and  glittering  equipages,  and  the  multifarious  occupations  of  life, 
bury  the  recollections  of  such  domestic  afflictions:  and,  when  they 
rise  again,  and  undoubtedly  they  will,  again  the  successive  tide  of 
this  world's  affairs  comes  speedily  over  them,  and  again  they  are 
forgotten.  —  It  is  not  so  with  the  poor.  A  single  apartment  fre 
quently  contains  one  household  at  least.  There  is  no  escape  from 
the  drunkard,  when  he  comes.  No  pleasures  invite  the  wife  and 
the  children  of  the  drunken  husband  and  father,  from  the  scene  of 
mnery ;  no  foreign  occupations  afford  them  relief;  no  ray  of  hope 
bears  a  reviving  promise  of  betterment  to-morrow ;  the  drunkard 
hiirself,  that  poor,  tottering,  broken  reed,  is  their  only  stay ;  they 
are  not  permitted  to  look  for  any  other,  of  the  present  world,  so 
long  as  the  conjugal  and  parental  relations  remain  ;  it  is  not  possible 
to  flee  away  and  be  at  rest ;  there  is  no  power  of  oblivion  but  in  the 
grave ;  and  even  that,  cold,  and  damp,  and  dreary,  as  it  is,  is  often 
sought  by  fervent  prayer,  as  an  outlet  for  the  wretched  sufferer 
from  a  domestic  hell. 

The  bustle  and  excitement  of  Limerick,  had  a  direct  and  unfavor 
able  influence  upon  Thaddy  Mashee,  who  had  passed  his  days  in 
great  obscurity  before.  Water  finds  its  level  not  more  certainly, 


216  AN   IRISH  HEART. 

than  a  wild  Irishman,  upon  enterhig  a  populous  town,  discovers  that 
congenial  circle,  in  which  it  is  most  agreeable  to  his  feelings  to  abide. 
Thaddy,  soon  after  his  arrival  in  Limerick,  found  himself  in  the 
society  of  certain  individuals,  whose  chief  occupation  was  drinking 
and  diversion  ;  and,  if  we  may  be  permitted  to  subdivide  the  second 
branch  of  their  employment,  this  diversion  consisted  partly  of  gam 
bling  and  fighting ;  and  of  the  latter  Thaddy  had  an  ample  dividend. 
It  is  characteristic  of  an  Irishman,  that,  when  sober,  he  is  generous, 
obliging,  affectionate,  and  humane, — but,  when  under  the  crathnrs 
dominion,  he  is  of  all  known  animals,  the  most  pugnacious,  fero 
cious  and  undenting.  The  opium  smoker,  of  Sumatra,  and  other 
islands  of  the  East,  is  not  more  likely  to  murder  friend  or  foe,  with 
out  the  least  discrimination.  Thaddy  soon  became  an  established 
inmate  of  Dennis  Queeny's  shebeen.  In  process  of  time,  no  man 
was  more  likely  to  be  missed  in  his  place,  of  a  winter's  evening, 
than  Thaddy.  If  it  was  determined  "  to  flake  an  ugly  felly" 
or  Jo  proceed  upon  any  other  "  divilment,"  no* man  was  more 
essential  to  the  enterprise  tharr  Thad.  Mashee.  Thaddy's  thought 
less  and  profligate  associates  were  chiefly  catholics.  We  mean  not 
to  imply,  that  protestants  are  exempted  from  the  degrading  condition 
of  pot-service,  to  which  all  vassals  of  the  crathur  are  subjected. 
But  we  regret  to  perceive,  that,  with  a  few  respectable  exceptions, 
which  we  delight  to  acknowledge  and  record,  the  Romish  clergy 
and  their  agents  are  apparently  opposed  to  the  employment  of  those 
means,  which,  in  the  present  age,  have  found  such  extensive  favor 
with  the  world,  for  the  suppression  of  intemperance.  Whether  this 
arises  from  an  unwillingness  to  relinquish  the  accustomed  means  of 
personal  gratification,  or  from  indifference,  we  cannot  say.  It  is 
more  probably,  however,  a  part  of  the  papal  system  ;  for,  wher 
drunkenness  shall  have  been  done  away,  and,  with  it,  that  just,  rel 
ative  proportion  of  all  indolence,  ignorance,  crime,  misery,  and  super 
tstition,  of  which  it  is  the  putative  parent; — then  truly  a  rnuct 
smaller  portion  of  mankind  may  be  expected  to  follow  the  dark 
lanthern  of  the  Romish  religion. 

It  is  needless  to  say,  that  the  course,  pursued  by  her  husband,  madt 
poor  Kathleen  an  unhappy  woman.  —  That  religion  is  most  likel} 
to  find  professors  among  the  frivolous  and  the  wicked,  which,  by  a 
species  of  ecclesiastical  legerdemain,  can  persuade  the  sinner,  that 
he  is  going  directly  to  Heaven,  when  he  is  going  directly  to  Hell. 
By  a  refined  and  complicated  system  of  Jesuitry  and  prelatical  jug 
gling,  the  Papal  See  has  obtained  its  present  extensive  influence 
through  the  world.  Poor  Thaddv  was  still  a  catholic  at  heart.  He 
was  constantly  contrasting  tne  compunctious  prickings  of  his  own 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  217 

conscience,  in  contemplation  of  his  unjustifiable  career,  and  under 
the  uncompromising  system  of  religion,  which  he  had  learned  from 
Kathleen  ;  —  with  the  delightful  alternate  succession  of  sin  and 
repentance,  permitted  by  the  Romish  scheme.  Most  true,  when  an 
explanation  is  formally  demanded,  we  are  told,  that  the  wafer  is 
without  efficacy,  unless  the  sinner  heartily  repent.  But  where  is 
the  son  of  Ireland  or  of  any  other  country,  who  has  stolen  a  guinea 
and  spent  the  last  farthing  of  it  in  whiskey,  who  does  not  "  heartily 
repent?"  It  would  be  difficult,  in  many  cases,  however,  to  decide, 
whether  he  repented  that  he  had  spent  the  guinea,  or  that  he  had 
stole  no  more.  The  priest  is  too  desirous  of  preserving  that  power, 
which  enables  him  to  deal  by  wholesale,  in  this  system  of  accepta.- 
ble  delusion,  to  render  the  wafer  difficult  of  digestion,  by  too  close 
a  scrutiny  into  the  character  of  that  repentance,  which  the  recipient 
avows.  —  Be  these  high  matters  as  they  may,  Thaddy  was  less 
pleased  with  a  religion,  which  left  him  so  exceedingly  uneasy,  after 
the  commission  of  sin.  To  forsake  the  poor  "  crathur,"  and  sin  no 
more,  was  not  in  all  his  thoughts.  Just  before  confession,  his  cath 
olic  associates  were  frequently  less  cheerful.  The  idea  of  passing 
out  of  life,  without  being  shrived  by  the  priest,  filled  them  occasion 
ally  with  painful  apprehension.  But,  upon  the  next  day,  they  were 
themselves  again,  and  ready  for  a  fresh  career  of  iniquity.  Kath 
leen  was  not  only  pained  but  chagrined  by  Thaddy's  evident  apos 
tasy,  for  she  undoubtedly  believed  that  she  had  converted  him 
herself.  —  Alas !  when  a  young  thief,  of  the  Roman  catholic  per 
suasion,  who  comes  to  steal  ducks,  is  suddenly  converted  to  the 
protestant  faith,  not  for  the  love  of  God,  but  of  a  handsome  Irish 
girl,  who  detects  him  in  the  act,  his  conversion  may  not  safely  be 
credited,  without  further  evidence. 

Thaddy  Mashee  had  become  a  good  carpenter,  and  he  had  no 
want  of  employment ;  but  the  misapplication  of  his  earnings  had 
brought  into  his  little  household  a  guest,  unwelcome  and  unknown 
before,  poverty  —  but  not  rags  as  yet,  nor  squalid  wretchedness.  — 
I  have  watched  —  nor  was  it  any  waste  of  time  —  I  have  stood, 
sheltered  beneath  my  umbrella,  during  a  storm  of  wind  and  rain, 
and  watched,  for  half  an  hour,  the  labors  of  that  little  insert,  whose 
thrift  and  industry  are  a  proverb.  I  have  seen  her  meeting  the  ele 
ments  at  every  point ;  gathering  redoubled  strength  from  the  very 
exigency  ;  at  one  moment,  repairing  the  crevasse,  which  gave  a  pas 
sage  to  the  water,  that  stood  in  a  puddle  —  a  lake  to  her —  around 
her  rampart  of  compacted  sand,  threatening  to  break  down  the  levee, 
and  bring  ruin  upon  her  house  and  home  ;  at  another  moment,  I  have 
seen  >er,  regardful  of  her  children,  descending  rapidly  into  her  sub 

VOL.  i.  19 


218  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

terraneous  abode,  and  instantly  returning ;  now  struggling  with  a 
pebble,  which  threatened  to  choke  the  avenue,  and  then  bearing  off 
a  straw,  which  the  wind  had  cast  in  her  way.  —  Such  is  not  an 
unhappy  illustration  of  a  thrifty  housewife,  — the  Christian  mother 
of  needy  children  ;  —  to  whom  the  voice  of  nature  has  spoken 
aloud,  —  if  their  father  neglect  them,  —  thou  art  their  mother  !  —  to 
whose  evangelized  heart  the  angel  of  mercy  has  whispered,  in 
accents  ineffably  sweet,  —  thou  art  not  forsaken ! —  Such  was  Kath 
leen.  Her  eyes,  her  ears,  her  hands  were  in  continual  requisition  ; 
and,  in  the  midst  of  oppressive  poverty,  she  still  continued  not  only 
to  keep  the  wreck  of  their  humble  establishment  together,  but  to 
preserve  an  air  of  tidiness  and  thrift.  —  Betsy  Finnigan  was  a  good 
friend  to  Kathleen,  —  but  she  was  poor  herself,  and  her  own  hus 
band  was  falling  fast  into  the  pit,  which,  for  years,  he  had  been  dig 
ging  for  others.  "  His  shebeen  wull  be  his  grave,  I  'm  faaring," 
said  Betsy  to  Kathleen,  in  the  confidence  of  her  full  heart.  — "  My 
health  an  shtrength  are  good,  bliss  the  Lard,"  Kathleen  would  say 
to  her  friend ;  •'  but  a  braaf  minnit  it  is  I  gits,  i'  the  midst  o'  my 
cares  an  throubles,  to  raad  the  ward.  But  we  can  pray,  Bitsy, 
onyhow.  Whin  I  'm  at  the  washtub,  or  minding  daar  Thaddy's 
clothes  or  the  childher's,  I  can  pray  an  waap  into  the  bargin.  An 
Ise  moor  shtrength  whin  Ise  done,  for  there  's  na  doot  it 's  the  Lard 
haars  me."  There  was  a  striking  resemblance  between  the  condi 
tions  of  these  illfated  women.  They  were  the  only  children  of 
their  respective  parents,  whom  they  had  committed  to  the  grave  ; 
their  years  were  nearly  equal ;  their  tempers  were  gentle  and  affec 
tionate  ;  their  sorrows  were  the  same  ;  without  father  or  mother, 
brother  or  sister  ;  they  had  the  same  religious  faith,  and  the  same 
unfailing  confidence  in  the  promises  of  God.  They  were  therefore, 
in  the  language  of  Paul,  "  sorrowful  yet  always  rejoicing."  These 
poor  women  had  given  a  promise  to  each  other,  that,  in  the  evenl 
of  the  death  of  either,  the  children  of  the  deceased,  so  far  as  circum 
stances  would  permit,  should  become  the  children  of  the  survivor  :  a 
promise,  whose  fulfilment  was  prevented  by  subsequent  events. 

If  any  human  being  could  be  supposed  to  possess  two  distinct 
entities,  that  being  was  Thaddy  Mashee.  He  was  an  entirely  dif 
ferent  creature,  as  his  good  or  evil  genius  prevailed.  Ungoverna 
ble,  brutal,  and  even  dangerous,  when  under  the  influence  of 
intoxicating  liquor ;  —  at  other  times,  during  the  intervals,  between 
his  paroxysms  of  drunkenness,  for  such  in  reality  they  were,  he 
was  full  of  sadness  and  sorrow  for  his  bad  conduct ;  pouring  forth, 
in  the  most  vehement  language,  professions  of  regret  and  promises 
of  amendment.  These  bright  sunbeams  were  always  hailed  with 


AN  IRISH  HEART. 

joy  by  Kathleen,  although  bitter  and  frequent  experience  had  taught 
her,  fliat  they  were  transient,  and  that  cloud  and  tempest  must  inev 
itably  follow.  A.  deep  sigh,  or  a  tear,  or  some  kind  attention  to  the 
children  from  their  father,  after  a  fit  of  intoxication,  would  atone  for 
a  torrent  of  oaths,  and  other  cruel  usage.  —  It  was,  in  one  of  these 
intervals  of  repentance  and  domestic  repose,  that  he  was  sitting  with 
little  David  upon  his  knee  :  —  "  Y'  ave  rid  to  me  o'  Joseph's  coat, 
Kathleen,"  said  he,  "  an  it '»  the  gorsoon's  got  one  o'  as  mony  col 
ors,  onyhow."  —  "  An  ye  may  wall  say  that,"  said  Kathleen  ;  "  but 
the  leetle  felly  wanted  a  coat  bad  enough,  an  I  did  the  bist  I  cud, 
daar  Thaddy.  It 's  made  o'  githerings  an  scrapings  to  be  sure  afore 
the  tailors'  shops.  Whin  I  was  picking  up  bits,  naar  McArdle's 
shop,  where  Faden  kipt,  the  same  as  wint  to  Amiriky,  wid  John 
McCloskey,  McArdle  ax'd  me  for  what  I  pick'd  up  the  paces;  an 
whin  I  toult  him,  he  throw'd  me  the  great  bit  o'  blue,  ye  '11  mind  it 
betune  the  rid  an  graan,  an  he  gi'  me  a  hank  o'  thrid  to  mak  it  wid. 
David  says  the  leetle  fellies  mak  fun  o'  his  coat,  but  it  kaaps  him 
warm  ;  an  Bitsy  Finnigan  says  McArdle  cud  na  made  a  bather  fit. 
Tarn  round  David,  an  lit  your  father  jist  look  at  it; — there 
Thaddy,  doesn't  ye  rickon,  Ise  done  purty  wall  consithering  ? " — 
Thaddy  made  no  reply  :  —  the  tears  filled  his  eyes.  —  "  Daar  mon," 
said  Kathleen,  "  an  what 's  the  mather  ?  He  sha'n't  waarthe  coat, 
an  it  does  n't  plase  ye  Thaddy  "  —  "  'T  was  n't  o'  the  coat  I  was 
thinking,"  replied  Thaddy,  rubbing  his  eyes ;  "  it 's  bekase,  whiles 
I  'm  pulling  the  house  to  paces,  yese  pitting  it  togither  agin  jist  as 
fast.  Och  !  Katty,  it 's  bad  luck  that  brought  me,  spalpeen  that  I 
was,  to  your  windy  that  night,  whin  I  was  ower  head  an  aars  in 
love  wid  your  daar  self.  An  what 's  am  I  now,  moor  nor  a  did  weight 
an  a  curse  t' ye,  Kathleen?"  —  "Whoosh!  Thaddy,"  said  Kath 
leen,  "  don't  be  after  talking  that  a  way,  —  ye  's  a  good,  kind  hus 
band  to  me,  whin  ye  's  your  own  self,  ye  are  ;  it 's  nothing  but  the 
erathur." — "Kathleen,"'  said  her  husband,  after  a  short  pause, 
"I  'm  thinking,  an  I  had  gane  wid  John  McCloskey  to  Amiriky,  I 
shud  na  be  haar  as  I  am.  —  There  's  a  vessel,  they  till  me,  wull  be 
going  after  a  waak's  time."  — Kathleen  had  occasiorally  repented 
her  counsel,  which  caused  Thaddy  to  try  his  fortune  in  Limer 
ick.  She  had  everything  to  fear  from  his  continuance  there  with 
his  present  associates,  and,  at  least,  something  to  hope  from  a  sepa 
ration.  —  "  Was  't  a  waak  ye  spake  o'  Thaddy  ?"  said  she.  —  "  It 's 
after  a  waak  or  tin  dees  the  ship  wull  sail,  as  I  'm  toult,"  he  replied 
—  "  Maybe,"  said  Kathleen,  "  it 's  the  Lard's  wull  that  we  shud 
go  to  Amiriky,  an  Ise  riddy  thin."  —  Thaddy  appeared  ove? joyed 
at  her  prompt  acquiescence ;  and  went  out  in  high  spirits  to  make 
the  necessary  inquiries. 


AN  IRISH  HEART. 

He  soon  returned,  with  information  that  the  ship  would  actually 
sail,  in  ten  days  or  a  fortnight.  —  Their  arrangements  were  easily 
made.  Time  slackened  not  his  customary  pace,  and  the  fortnight 
was  speedily  gone.  Kathleen,  after  parting  from  Innisfallen,  found 
but  little  difficulty,  in  turning  away  from  Limerick.  There  was 
indeed  one  tie,  which  she  could  not  sever  without  a  tear.  When 
the  ship  was  hauling  off  from  the  wharf,  and  orders  had  been  given 
and  repeated,  for  all  but  passengers  to  go  ashore,  Betsy  Finnigan 
was  the  last  to  take  leave.  Their  little  children,  who  had  been 
taught  to  look  forward  to  years  of  friendship,  embraced  one  another 
for  the  last  time ;  the  prospective  plans  of  their  mothers  were  burst 
like  bubbles  ;  and  an  ocean  was  about  to  be  thrown  between  those, 
who  might  have  associated  till  death,  in  the  bonds  of  humble  but 
happy  friendship.  And  all  this  would  have  been  far  otherwise,  but 
for  "  the  crathur."  —  The  topsails  were  cast  loose,  and  in  a  minute 
or  two  the  ship  began  to  move  ;  "  Gad  bliss  ye  Bitsy  daar,  now  an 
i'  the  dee."  —  "  The  Lard  be  good  t'ye  Kathleen,  I  'm  thinking 
we  "11  maat  in  a  bather  warld."  —  Upon  the  present  occasion,  they 
were  embarked  in  a  temperance  ship.  Captain  Barclay  permitted 
no  spirit  to  be  used  by  the  crew,  and  it  was  a  special  condition,  that 
not  a  drop  should  be  brought  on  board  by  the  passengers.  In  this 
vessel,  'one  hundred  and  thirty-nine  emigrants  were  brought,  after  a 
short  and  prosperous  passage  to  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
and  in  the  common  course  of  time,  to  the  city  of  Montreal.  It  was 
the  third  day  of  October,  when  Thaddy  and  Kathleen  landed  in  the 
new  country.  Their  scanty  resources  had  been  nearly  exhausted  in 
paying  for  their  passage.  A  few  shillings  only  remained  of  their  lit 
tle  store.  In  the  most  literal  sense,  the  world  was  now  before  them 
and  Providence  their  guide  :  —  but  there  can  be  no  superior  guide 
for  man,  if  he  will  condescend  to  follow.  They  were  young,  in 
health,  and  accustomed  to  toil. 

However  humble  the  resources  of  emigrants  when  they  arrive, 
there  are  few,  whose  pecuniary  means  are  too  insignificant  to  tempt 
the  cupidity  of  a  certain  class  of  mankind.  The  poor  emigrant,  not 
less  than  the  poor  sailor,  has  his  cormorant  on  the  watch,  impa 
tiently  awaiting  his  arrival.  The  drunken  landlord  is  the  pursuer 
and  the  enamy  of  both.  Poor  Thaddy  had  scarcely  stepped  upon 
the  shorn  jefore  he  fell  among  thieves.  He  went  forth,  like  the 
messenger  from  the  ark,  to  find  a  resting  place  for  his  wife  and  chil 
dren  ;  and,  after  two  or  three  hours,  he  returned  to  them,  not  with 
an  olive  branch  in  his  mouth,  but  with  such  an  intolerable  stench  of 
whiskey,  as  left  no  doubt  of  the  success  of  his  mission.  A.  portion 
of  their  small  resources  had  already  been  consumed  for  the  procure- 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  22  . 

ment  of  a  selfish  and  brutal  gratification.  Kathleen,  with  a  heavy 
heart,  leading  little  David  by  the  hand,  and  carrying  the  babe  in  her 
arms,  followed  her  husband  to  such  miserable  quarters  as  he  had 
been  enabled  to  engage,  as  he  informed  her  for  a  few  days.  Mis 
erable  indeed  they  were,  already  crowded  with  emigrants,  and  sit 
uated  in  the  rear  of  a  little  grog-shop,  from  which  the  stench  of 
whiskey  and  tobacco,  and  the  clamor  of  unruly  customers,  continued 
to  proceed  till  near  midnight.  Thaddy's  endeavors  to  obtain  employ 
ment  were  not  attended  with  that  success,  which  he  had  anticipated. 
During  a  period  of  two  months,  his  family  had  suffered  for  the 
necessaries  of  life,  which  he  had  been  either  unable  or  unwilling  to 
supply,  most  probably  the  latter ;  for  he  had  acquired,  by  his  occa 
sional  labor,  the  means  of  drunkenness,  in  which  he  had  frequently 
indulged  since  his  arrival.  Kathleen  perceived  with  the  deepest 
regret,  that  her  influence  was  gradually  decreasing ;  and  that  his 
manners  towards  herself  and  the  children,  even  during  his  momenta 
of  sobriety,  were  becoming  less  affectionate  and  gentle  than  befere. 
The  painful  consciousness  of  being  less  beloved  is  apt  enough  to 
stimulate  offended  pride  to  some  effort  of  revenge.  The  wounded 
heart  struggles  to  love  less  ;  it  strengthens  its  resolution,  by  gather 
ing,  from  their  shallow  graves,  the  recollections  of  past  offences, 
long  since  forgiven,  and  sacrificed  with  tears  of  joy,  upon  the  altars 
of  renovated  love.  Ingenious,  in  reasoning  itself  into  that  very  belief, 
which  it  abhors,  the  mind  distorts  all  truth,  and  annihilates  its  own 
peace  with  its  own  sophistry.  —  But  it  is  not  always  thus.  There 
are  minds,  which  present  the  powers  of  memory  and  imagination, 
in  bold  relief;  and  yet  the  reasoning  taculties  are  more  prominent 
than  these.  So  there  are  hearts,  in  which  there  is  more  than 
becomes  a  Christian  of  earthly  pride,  and  yet  love  may  so  exceed 
ingly  prevail,  as  to  bring  all  other  affections  under  its  absolute  con 
trol.  Such  was  that  Irish  Heart,  which  beat  in  the  bosom  of 
Kathleen,  and,  in  despite  of  all  external  agitations,  with  a  pulse  as 
steady  and  undeviating  as  the  movement  of  a  chronometer.  Her 
love  for  the  man  of  her  heart  wis  unconditional ;  it  was  proved  to  be 
true  love,  by  the  acknowledged  test,  —  for  it  was  blind.  We  state 
not  this  in  commendation,  neither  in  dispraise  of  that  ill-fated  woman, 
whose  story  we  recite  ;  but  we  describe  her  as  she  was.  Thaddy 
was  the  husband  of  her  choice  and  the  father  of  her  children.  The 
unfading  recollections  of  young  love  were  ever  before  her,  in  all 
their  primitive  freshness  ;  she  found  it  an  easier  task  to  forget  his 
present  neglect  than  his  former  devotion  ;  and  she  never  attributed 
the  ill-usage  of  an  ungovernable  man  to  "  daar  Thaddy,"  but  always 
tii  the  "crathur." 
VOL.  i.  19* 


222  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

The  month  of  December  had  commenced,  and,  fortunately  for  the 
poor,  the  season  was  unusually  mild.  For  two  months,  Thaddy 
Mashee  had  sought  in  vain,  for  some  regular  employment.  He  had 
heard  that  a  considerable  demand  for  carpenters  existed  in  Troy,  in 
the  State  of  New  York,  and  proposed,  to  Kathleen,  that  he  himself 
should  proceed  alone  to  that  city,  and  endeavor  to  find  employment 
there.  The  accounts  that  he  had  received,  and  which  he  presented 
before  her,  were  so  plausible,  that  she  finally  consented  to  the  tem 
porary  separation.  If  he  should  not  speedily  succeed,  he  promised 
to  return  immediately,  but  if  he  found  sufficient  encouragement  to 
settle  permanently  there,  it  was  arranged,  that  he  should  return  or 
send  for  his  wife  and  children.  As  Thaddy  was  unable  to  write, 
he  agreed  to  employ  some  person  in  Troy  to  write  in  his  behalf. 

No  sooner  had  Thaddy  departed,  than  Kathleen  devoted  herself, 
single  handed  and  alone,  to  the  support  of  herself  and  her  little  chil 
dren.  &i.  '"as  an  excellent  washer  and  ironer,  and  her  industrious 
habits  and  unojomished  character  soon  brought  her  into  the  channel 
)f  as  much  work,  as  her  strength  permitted  her  to  undertake.  She 
was  enabled,  by  the  most  rigid  economy,  to  pay  the  rent  for  her  little 
apartment,  and  to  clothe  her  little  ones,  and  to  find  them  potatoes 
and  salt;  and,  from  one  of  the  families,  in  which  she  worked,  she 
received  a  gratuitous  and  bountiful  supply  of  skim  milk  ;  so  that  she 
and  her  children  would  have  been  contented  and  happy  but  for  the 
absence  of  the  husband  and  father.  She  had  even  procured  three 
yards  of  strong  cotton,  and,  after  reading  her  chapter  and  praying 
for  the  "poor  childher  in  a  land  0'  shlrangers,  and  daar  Thaddy," 
she  used  to  sit  down  and  work  by  a  farthing  candle,  that  she  might 
surprise  him  upon  his  return,  with  a  new  shirt.  —  She  had  ascer 
tained,  to  a  day,  the  time,  which  he  would  probably  consume  in  his 
journey  to  Troy,  and  the  period  when  a  letter  might  be  expected. 
She  was  at  the  little  window  of  the  post  office,  day  after  day,  for 
several  weeks,  inquiring  for  her  letter.  Her  perseverance,  in  spite 
of  so  many  disappointments,  had  attracted  the  notice  of  the  post 
master  ;  and  her  name  and  personal  appearance  had  become  quite 
familiar.  Her  amiable  countenance  became  at  last  so  sad,  after  so 
many  applications  in  vain,  that,  to  her  customary  inquiry,  —  "  Wull 
there  be  ony  Utter  for  Kathleen  Mashee,  your  honor*"  —  it  was  with 
a  feeling  of  sincere  regret,  that,  after  a  deliberate  examination  of 
the  pile  of  letters,  he  returned  them  to  the  pigeon-hole,  and  looking 
over  his  spectacles,  replied,  "No  letter  for  Kathleen  Mashee.''' 

December,  January,  and  February  were  well  nigh  gone,  and  no 
tidings  of  Thaddy.  —  Kathleen,  driven  almost  to  desperation,  could 
endure  it  no  longer.  She  determined  to  proceed  herself  to  Troy, 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  223 

in  search  of  her  husband.  Having  made  her  arrangements,  she  set 
forth  upon  the  journey,  notwithstanding  the  inclement  season  of  the 
year;  and,  with  her  infant  in  her  arms,  and  little  David  at  her  side, 
she  proceeded  to  traverse,  on  foot,  those  hundreds  of  miles,  which 
lie  between  Montreal  and  Troy.  Subsisting  chiefly  upon  charity, 
and  supported  by  the  God  of  the  forlorn,  she  steadily  pursued  her 
way.  Her  simple  story,  briefly  told,  in  the  irresistible  language  of 
nature  and  truth,  and  in  reply  to  the  inquiries  of  those,  whom  she 
encountered,  won  a  night's  lodging  here  and  there,  and  now  and 
then  a  plentiful  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  for  little  David  and  her 
self.  Occasionally  she  was  less  fortunate.  Suspicion  and  distrust 
would  sometimes  lock  up  the  heart  even  of  some  honest  farmer. 
Permission  to  take  shelter  for  the  night,  on  the  hay-loft  perhaps, 
was,  in  some  cases,  reluctantly  conceded.  Upon  such  occasions, 
little  David  and  herself  would  eat  the  dry  morsel  of  bread,  which 
she  had  providently  reserved  for  such  an  exigency  ;  and,  while 
she  was  nursing  the  baby,  David  would  read  some  portion  of  God's 
word  from  that  same  little  Bible,  which  had  been  Kathleen's  own 
book,  in  the  island  of  Innisfallen.  "It's  too  good  for  us  this 
place,"  she  would  say,  as  they  were  about  to  renew  their  journey. 
"  'T  was  in  jist  sich  a  place  ye  remimber,  David,  the  Saviour  was 
cradled."  She  would  then  stop  at  the  farmer's  door,  and,  thanking 
him  for  their  night's  lodging,  proceed  upon  her  journey.  Thus, 
with  almost  incredible  toil  and  suffering,  she  reached  the  place  of 
her  destination  ;  and,  after  many  inquiries,  to  which  she  obtained  no 
satisfactory  answer,  she  was  directed  to  the  habitations  of  some  Irish 
families,  who  formed  a  little  neighborhood  by  themselves.  Here 
she  repeated  her  inquiries  from  house  to  house,  without  any  success, 
until  she  arrived  at  a  miserable  hovel,  in  one  part  of  which  there 
was  a  -grog-shop.  Kathleen  approached  the  door,  and  accosted 
one  of  *he  men,  who  were  standing  within  :  —  "  Is  it  ony  one  haar, 
that  can  jist  till  me  whereaboots  I  may  be  finding  Thaddy  Mashee  ? 
it's  mv  husband  that  same."  —  "  Thaddy  Mashee  it  is?"  said  one 
of  the  group.  — "  Yis,  an  it  is,"  replied  Kathleen.  "Was  he 
lang  haar?"  inquired  another.  —  "Not  lang  I'm  thinking,"  said 
Kathleen,  "  he  lift  Montreal  moor  nor  thraa  months  ago  it  was." 

—  "Was  not  he  a  carpenter  fro'  Lim'rick?"  inquired  the  person, 
whom  she  first  addressed.  —  "  Lard  be  good  t'  ye,  that  same  it  was 
indaad,"  said  Kathleen,  "jist  be  tilling  me  where  to  find  the  daar 
mon."--"  Mashee  was  it  she  sed?"  inquired  a  rough  looking  fel 
low,  "  likes  enough  it 's  he  that  was  sintanc'd  for  the  siven  yaars." 

—  "  Daar  me  !"  cried  Kathleen,  and  fell  with  the  babe  in  her  arms 
upon  the  ground.     "  How  inconsitherate  y'  are  Mullowny,"  said 


224  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

one  of  the  group,  "  ye  haar'd  the  poor  woman  say  the  mon  was  hei 
husband."  —  All  considerations  were  forgotten  in  the  present  de 
mand  upon  their  kind  feelings ;  and  their  countrywoman  and  her 
babe  were  carried  into  the  house.  Little  David  cried,  as  if  his  heart 
would  break,  for  he  thought  his  poor  mother  was  dead.  In  a  few 
minutes,  however,  she  was  restored  to  her  senses ;  and  the  answers 
to  her  rapid  interrogations  furnished  a  distressing  confirmation  of  her 
(ears.  —  "Poor  daar  Thaddy!"  she  exclaimed,  "an  it's  transh- 
ported  he  is!"  It  was  soon  explained  to  her,  that  transportation, 
:is  a  mode  of  punishment,  was  unknown  in  the  new  country  ;  and 
she  seemed  to  be  somewhat  relieved  by  the  conviction,  that  he  was 
still  upon  the  same  continent  with  herself.  When  she  had  suffi 
ciently  composed  her  mind  to  hear  a  connected  account  of  the  affair, 
it  was  related  to  her  briefly  as  follows.  Thaddy  had  wandered  about, 
seeking  employment,  and  devoting  his  earnings  for  a  day's  work,  to 
the  procurement  of  the  means  of  intoxication  for  several  successive 
days ;  and  then  repeating  the  process.  In  a  fit  of  drunkenness,  he 
had  attacked  a  fellow-countryman  with  a  deadly  weapon.  The 
Grand  Jury  and  the  Court  were  in  session.  Poor  Thaddy  was  im 
mediately  indicted,  tried,  and  convicted  of  an  assault  with  intent  to 
murder;  and  sentenced  to  the  State  Prison  at  Auburn,  for  seven 
years.  —  "  An  why  didn't  he  sind  me  the  news,  bad  enough  an  it 
was  indaad?"  said  Kathleen.  —  "  He  did  so,  and  ye  may  depind," 
replied  an  old  man,  from  whom  she  had  obtained  the  most  minute 
particulars;  "an  'twas  myself  that  pinn'd  the  litter  for  'im,  an 
'twas  diricted  jist  as  he  toult  me,  to  Maastrcss  Kathleen  Mashee, 
ower  Pether  McQuaid's  shebeen.  —  But  now  I'm  thinking  we  was 
so  harrished,  that  I's  claan  forgot  to  pit  the  name  o'  the  town,  but 
the  litter  's  safe  enough  onyhow." 

One  hundred  and  seventy  or  eighty  miles  weio  still  between 
Kathleen  and  her  miserable  husband.  But  of  what  avail  would  her 
presence  be,  if  she  were  in  Auburn  !  To  those,  who  counselled  her 
to  give  up  the  thought  of  such  a  long  and  unprofitable  journey,  she 
replied,  "  I  wull  be  naarer  to  daar  Thaddy,  an  it 's  a  swaat  thought 
to  me  that." 

The  inmates  of  this  miserable  dwelling  were  kind  to  Kathleen, 
and  gave  her  and  her  children  a  supper  and  lodging.  She  retired 
into  one  corner  of  the  apartment,  every  other  corner  of  which  was 
already  occupied ;  and  there,  upon  her  sack  of  straw,  she  lay  down 
with  her  children,  not  to  slumber,  but  to  weep  and  pray.  There  is 
surely  such  a  consciousness  of  God's  presence  and  support,  such  a 
firm  conviction,  that  he  hears  and  answers  prayer,  as  gives  strength 
to  labor  still  and  endure  yet  a  little  longer,  when  the  cheek  is  pale, 


AN  IKISH  HEART.  226 

and  the  joints  are  feeble,  and  the  heart  is  well  nigh  broken.  —  In 
the  morning,  though  she  had  slept  but  little,  she  rose  strengthened 
and  refreshed.  — "An  where  is  't  y'  are  going  now?"  said  her  host 
ess,  as  she  saw  her  preparing  herself  and  he.r  children  for  their 
departure.  —  "  Thanks  t'  ye  for  your  kindness,"  said  Kathleen  ; 
"  Ise  going  to  saak  a  pardon  for  my  poor  daar  mon.  They  till  me 
it 's  na  moor  nor  a  few  miles  to  the  governor's  house  ;  an  Ise  toult 
by  the  paple  haar,  that  it 's  himself  has  the  power  to  pardon  Thaddy, 
an  he  wull  ;  an  in  the  name  o'  marcy,  why  wull  he  not,  an  he  's 
flesh  an  blood?" 

She  took  leave  of  the  poor  people,  who  had  sheltered  her  for  the 
night,  and  who  wished  '•'•good  luck  ?  ye"  as  she  departed,  but  with 
an  expression,  which  seemed  to  intimate  their  entire  want  of  confi 
dence  in  the  success  of  her  enterprise.  She  turned  off  with  a  lighter 
foot  than  might  have  been  expected,  after  the  fatigue  she  had  under- 
gone  ;  but  her  heart  had  been  refreshed  by  a  measure  of  hope,  which 
amounted  almost  to  a  confidence  of  success.  The  poor  creature,  in 
the  simplicity  of  her  heart,  supposed,  that  the  Governor  of  New 
York  would  be  quite  as  blind  to  Thaddy's  failings,  as  she  was  her 
self.  —  She  reached  Albany  before  ten  in  the  morning,  and  soon 
found  her  way  to  the  governor's  mansion.  Fortunately  he  was  at 
home.  She  rang  the  bell,  and  sat  down  upon  the  door  steps,  with 
little  David,  to  get  a  moment's  rest.  The  door  was  presently  opened 
by  a  domestic,  who  inquired  her  business.  "  It 's  a  poor  buddy  wtul 
spake  wid  the  governor,"  she  replied.  In  a  short  time,  she  was 
conducted  into  his  study.  Kathleen  made  her  courtesy,  and  little 
David,  who  had  been  duly  instructed,  took  off  his  cap,  and  holding 
it  with  both  hands,  made  his  best  bow.  But  this  extraordinary  effort 
caused  him  to  fall  upon  the  carpet.  The  governor  smiled,  and  said 
an  encouraging  word  to  the  little  fellow.  "  He  's  waary  sir,"  said 
Kathleen,  "  he  can  do  it  bitter  nor  that;  but  he's  walked  a  lang 
way."  —  "How  far?"  inquired  the  governor.  "It's  only  fro' 
Troy  the  dee  sir,  but  we  's  come  fro'  Montreal ;  an  the  childher  's 
walk'd  wid  me  ivry  dee,  and  his  faat  are  blister'd  they  are."  — 
"  Sit  down,  then,  both  of  you,"  said  the  governor,  "  and  inform  me 
what  has  caused  you  to  walk  from  Montreal  to  Albany,  at  this 
inclement  season,  and  what  is  your  business  with  me?"  —  "  It 's  na 
the  like  o'  me,"  said  Kathleen,  "that  wull  be  able  to  spake  to 
quality  as  it 's  maat :  but  may  the  Lard  pit  right  wards  into  the 
mouth  an  right  thoughts  into  the  broken  heart  o'  a  poor  woman,  and 
ye  '11  haar  the  truth  onyhow.  It 's  o'  Thaddy  Mashee,  that  I  wud 

spake  t'  ye  sir,  an "     "  Are  you  his  wife?"  inquired  the  gov 

ernor.     "Indaad  am  I,  and  it's  my  comfort  that  I  am,"  answered 


226  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

Kathleen     "an  now  he  's  in  throuble  he  's  daarer  to  me  nor  iver." 

—  "  Well,"  rejoined  the  governor,  "  I  am  well  acquainted  with  his 
case,  and  you  have  come  here  to  see  if  you  can  get  him  pardoned,  1 
suppose."  —  "  Jist  that,  your  honor,  it 's  all  the  way  fro'  Montreal 
Ise  come  for  that  same  ;  it 's  na  moor  nor  five  months  since  \ve  come 
haar.     We  're  shtrangers  in  a  shtrange  land  :  our  forbares  in  the 
oult  country  are  all  gane,  and  it 's  nather  kith  nor  kin  we  ha'  haar. 
It's  a  good  kind  mon,  my  husband  that's  in  prison,  and  he'd  na 
hart  a  fly."  —  "  But,  my  good  woman,"  said  the  governor,  "  it  was 
proved,  that  he  would  have  committed  murder,  if  he  had  not  been 
prevented."  —  "  Och  sir,"  replied  Kathleen,  "I'd  na  belaave  the 
like  o'  that,  an  I  saad  it  wid  my  own  eyes.     It 's  na  Thaddy  Mashee 
himself  wud  do  sich  a  thing  as  that ;  't  was  netting  but  the  crathur, 
your  honor  may  depind."  —  "  But  the  laws  of  England,"  replied 
the  governor,  "  and  of  this  country  consider  a  man  more  guilty,  who 
commits  a  crime  under  the  influence  of  liquor."  —  "  An  shud  it  be 
so?"  rejoined  the  poor  woman,  with  increasing  animation,  "  shud  it 
be  so  ?     An  it 's  right  to  pray  that  we  may  na  be  lid  into  timptation, 
is  it  right  to  mak  laws,  which  fills  the  land  wid  shebeens,  where  he 
that  sills  the  crathur,  may  timpt  ony  poor  buddy  to  his  ruin?    Whin 
we  come  to  this  contree,  fro'  the  dee  we  lift  Lim'rick  till  we  raach'd 
Montreal,  na  woman  iver  had  a  moor  oblaaging  mon,  than  Thaddy. 
He  was  iver  talking  good-nathured  wid  myself,  or  playing  wid  the 
childher,  or  spaking  o'  how  happy  we  wud  be  in  the  new  contree. 
He  thritend  na  buddy,  he  was  ceevil  and  dacent  to  all  aboord.     An 
it 's  jist  bekase  there  was  na  a  dhrap  o'  the  crathur  to  be  had. 
Your  honor  wull  forgi'  a  poor  buddy,  but  I  wud  ax,  an  a  governor 
wid  all  the  contreevers  o'  the  law  has  na  as  great  a  power  to  prevint 
this  sart  o'  throuble,  as  a  captin  o'  a  marchant  ship  ?     Whoosh ! 
sir,"  continued  Kathleen,  forgetting  in  her  zeal  for  her  husband  and 
for  justice,  the  presence  she  was  in,  "  pit  na  the  cheens  round  the 
nick  o'  poor  Thaddy,  that  daar  innocent  mon  that  he  is,  but  upon 
them  what  maks  and  what  sills  the  maddening  crathur,  or  upon 
them,  what  permits  sich  prosadings  ;  na  offince  t'  yer  honor,  ony- 
how.  —  Whin  the  dee  is  done,  the  poor  buddy,  waary  and  darty, 
and  drouthy,  rins  to  the  shebeen  as  aisily,  as  the  baby  whin  it  'a 
hungry  rins  after  the  brist.     An  there  was  na  shebeen,  he  wud  rin 
hum  to  the  wife  an  childher,  an  be  moor  happy  there.     Woe  be  to 
them,  the  book  tills  us  yer  honor,  by  whom  th'  offince  hath  come. 

—  But,  an  ye '11  na  regard  the  prayers  and  the  taars  o'  a  poor 
woman,  Ise  one  frind,  to  whom  I  can  go."  —  "  You  mean  the  Catho 
lic  priest  or  bishop,  I  suppose,"  said  the  governor. "  Na  in- 

daad,  yer  honor,"  said  Kathleen  ;  "  it 's  this  blissed  book,"  taking 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  227 

her  little  Bible  from  her  bosom,  "  that  taught  me  moor  nor  tin  yaars 
ago,  where  to  saak  the  bist  relaaf  for  a  broken  heart,  and  the  daarest 
frind  a  poor  buddy  can  ha'  in  a  coult  warld." 

The  governor  was  much  interested  by  the  zeal  and  honesty  of 
this  devoted  creature  ;  and,  having  heard,  soon  after  the  trial,  of 
Mashee,  some  circumstances  of  a  palliatory  character,  he  was 
strongly  inclined  to  mercy.  The  marks  of  weariness  were  evident 
on  the  features  of  Kathleen  and  her  little  boy.  The  high  color  upon 
her  intelligent  and  honest  face,  was  not  the  glow  of  health,  but  the 
flush  of  a  protracted  and  painful  excitement.  The  governor  re 
quested  his  daughter,  who  came  accidentally  into  the  room,  to  bring 
some  refreshments.  She  soon  returned,  with  her  mother,  and  a 
little  brother,  whose  curiosity  she  had  excited,  by  her  account  of 
the  pretty  Irish  woman  and  her  children.  —  "  It 's  your  leddy,  sir?" 
said  Kathleen,  dropping  a  courtesy.  The  governor  nodded  his 
head,  and  gave  some  little  account  of  the  poor  woman's  errand, 
while  she  gave  little  David  some  of  the  refreshment,  and  partook, 
though  sparingly,  herself.  —  "You  had  better  take  something 
more,"  said  the  governor's  lady,  "  you  have  walked  several  miles 
since  your  breakfast."  —  "  It 's  na  breakfast  Ise  bin  ating  the  dee, 
maam,"  said  Kathleen:  "it's  hard  ating  wid  a  hivy  heart.  My 
own  taars  it  is,  that 's  bin  maat  and  drink  to  me  mony  a  dee.  An 
ye  was  i'  the  same  case  yourself,  daar  leddy,  wid  your  swaat  child- 
her  haar  depindant  upon  yourself  alone  for  a  bit  bread,  and  your 
good  mon  pit  up  in  prison,  for  siven  waary  yaars,  it 's  na  o'  ating 
ye  'd  be  thinking,  moor  nor  to  kaap  sowl  and  buddy  togither,  till  ye 
saad  him  ha'  his  leeberty  agin. — Och  sir,"  continued  Kathleen, 
turning  to  the  governor,  and  pressing  an  argument,  which  her 
sagacity  assured  her  had  not  been  presented  entirely  in  vain  ;  —  "is 
it  jist  in  the  sight  o'  God,  to  spread  a  shnare  at  iv'ry  corner,  and 
whin  as  't  was  na  moor  nor  raasonable  to  be  ixpicted,  a  poor  immi 
grant  or  ony  other  poor  buddy  falls  in  't,  to  pit  him  in  prison  for  siven 
yaars?  An  ye  wad  jist  put  the  crathur,  that  did  the  ill  wark,  in 
prison  for  siven  yaars,  wid  them  that  maks  it,  and  them  that  sills  it, 
ye  'd  do  a  sarvice,  and  saa  a  daal  o'  difference  onyhow.  Ise  haar'd 
afore  I  lift  Ireland,  that  Amiriky  was  a  fraa  country.  It 's  a  fraa 
country,  for  aven  the  dacons  o'  the  charches,  Ise  toult,  to  make  the 
accursed  crathur  o'  the  Sabbadee ;  it 's  a  fraa  country  for  sich  as 
the  like  o'  they,  who  profiss  to  love  the  Lard,  that  wint  aboot  doing 
good,  to  sill  the  pistilent  poison  that  it  is,  an  to  win  away  the  bit 
bread  o'  the  little  childher,  an  drive  the  poor  broken-hearted  mother 
to  dispiration,  an  laad  the  misguided  husband  an  father  to  offind  agin 
the  law.  It 's  a  fraa  country  for  all  this,  indaad  it  is.  But  \iliin 


228  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

the  wretched  mon,  craz'd  wid  the  erathur,  commits  an  offince,  it'* 
na  fraa  country  for  the  like  o'  him,  onyhow."  —  The  energy  ana 
honesty  of  this  poor  supplicant's  manner  can  scarcely  be  conceived. 
Tne  governor's  lady  and  daughter  were  deeply  impressed  by  the 
native  eloquence  of  this  untutored  Irish  woman.  Their  tears  were 
already  telling  the  secret  of  their  sympathy.  —  "  Maybe,"  continued 
Kathleen,  "  maybe  ye  's  thinking  Ise  too  boult  an  plain-spaking. 
Indaad  it 's  not  myself  that  maans  ony  offince,  for  it 's  upon  yer 
honored  selves  alone,  next  to  the  sure  frind,  Ise  depinding  for  marcy, 
it  is.  Poor  daar  Thaddy  !"  she  exclaimed,  scarcely  able  to  speak 
articulately  for  her  tears  and  sobs.  "Och!  an  we  had  only  bin 
continted  to  remain  in  Innisfallen,  where  we  was  barn,  an  where  we 
first  began  to  love  ache  other,  an  where  we  lived  in  pace  !  —  Daar 
sir,  wull  ye  na  look  upon  your  own  swaat  leddy,  an  upon  your  own 
childher,  an  gi'  a  passing  thought  to  me  an  to  mine  ?  It 's  for  the 
daar  husband,  the  only  frind  I  ha'  i'  the  warld,  Ise  plaading,  an  for 
the  father  o'  thase  childher  haar.  Wull  ye  na  lit  thase  poor  things 
ha'  their  father  agin,  an  wull  ye  kaap  the  bars  o'  iron  betune  myself 
an  my  daar  mon,  for  siven  lang  yaars  1  —  Gad  bliss  ye  sir  ;  —  he  's 
touching  your  kind  haart ;  I  saa  it  by  the  taar  that 's  jist  in  your 
eye."  —  "  Good  woman,"  said  the  governor,  "  your  husband's  case 
shall  be  considered  without  delay,  possibly  this  morning ;  in  the 
mean  time,  as  you  are  entirely  without  friends  in  this  place,  my  wife 
will  provide  for  you  to-day."  —  "Och,  sir,  it's  nothing  Ise  can 
retarn,  but  a  poor  buddy's  prayers,  an  ye  '11  ha'  enough  o'  them, 
onyhow."  — Kathleen  and  her  children  were  ushered  into  the  gov 
ernor's  kitchen.  "  Dear  papa,"  said  his  daughter,  as  he  was  leav 
ing  the  room  shortly  after,  "  do  let  the  poor  little  children  have  their 

father  again  ! ' ' 

At  noon,  the  governor  returned,  and  Kathleen  was  summoned 
into  his  presence.  "  In  consideration  of  your  husband's  youth," 
said  the  governor,  "  and  of  some  circumstances,  which,  as  I  am  told, 
were  favorable  to  him  at  the  trial,  and  of  your  own  efforts  in  his 
behalf,  I  now  put  into  your  hands  a  full  pardon  for  Thaddy  Mashee.'' 
—  The  effect  upon  this  poor  woman  was  not  such  as  might  ha\  e 
been  expected.  Instead  of  giving  way  to  such  an  ebullition  of  un 
governable  feeling,  as  is  characteristic  of  the  Irish,  under  similar 
circumstances,  she  received  the  pardon  from  the  governor,  and, 
turning  her  eyes  towards  Heaven,  she  put  the  paper  to  her  lips,  and 
bathed  it  with  tears  :  she  then  dropped  upon  her  knees,  and.  clasp 
ing  her  hands  together,  exclaimed,  in  tones  of  the  deepest  feelimr, 
"  Lard  of  the  poor  and  the  rich,  the  waak  and  the  powerful,  for  the 
blissmg,  which  Ise  now  resaved,  may  I  spind  the  rist  o'  my  dees  to 
Ihv  honor  and  elory." 


AN  IRISH  HEART.  229 

Her  gratitude  to  the  governor  and  his  family  was  expressed  in  the 
most  simple  and  affecting  terms.  —  She  could  not  be  prevailed  on  to 
remain  and  rest  herself  for  the  night.  —  "  I  '11  be  tin  miles  on  my 
way  to  the  prison,"  said  she,  "  afore  I  slaap."  She  pursued  her 
journey  to  Auburn,  subsisting  on  charity,  as  before^  and  arrived 
there  at  last,  herself  and  her  little  boy  nearly  exhausted  with  fatigue. 
She  inquired  her  way  to  the  State's  Prison,  and  in  the  words  of  the 
respected  individual,  from  whom  we  received  the  original  statement, 
upon  which  we  have  built  this  tale  of  AN  IRISH  HEART,  "  like  the 
good  angel  of  Peter,  she  opened  the  prison  door,  and  set  the  captive 
free."  She  delivered  the  pardon,  which  she  had  kept  safely  in  her 
Bible,  to  the  warden  of  the  prison.  After  carefully  examining  the 
document,  he  bade  her  follow  him.  She  passed  along  through  the 
narrow  avenue  and  between  the  rows  of  cells.  At  length  he  stopped, 
und  applied  the  key. — Kathleen  stood  near  him  with  a  beating 
heart.  —  Tfce  bolts  flew  back  ;  —  the  door  swung  open  :  — the  crimi 
nal  could  not  perfectly  recognize  the  individual,  who  eagerly  ap 
proached  him  ;  —  but,  in  an  instant,  the  poor  creature's  arms  were 
clasped  about  his  neck,  and  "  Daar,  daar  Thaddy,"  conveyed  in  tones 
of  the  tenderest  affection,  assured  him  of  the  truth.  —  "  It 's  your 
own  wife  and  childher,  Thaddy,"  said  she,  —  "come  out  fro'  this 
coult  ugly  place,  daar  mon."  Thaddy  looked  anxiously  at  the 
warden  for  an  explanation,  who  announced  to  the  bewildered  man, 
that  he  was  fully  pardoned. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  professions  of  gratitude  and  love,  which 
he  bestowed  upon  his  deliverer.  Her  touching  story  created  a 
strong  feeling  of  sympathy  for  them  both.  A  purse  was  made 
up,  by  some  benevolent  individuals  in  Auburn,  on  their  account. 
Thaddy  once  more  commenced  business  as  a  carpenter,  and  there 
was  but  one  obstruction  in  the  way  of  their  prosperity,  —  the  cra- 
th.ur,  the  most  uncompromising  and  unrelenting  of  all  task-masters 
over  those,  who  have  once  become  his  voluntary  slaves. 

It  would  be  more  agreeable  to  lay  aside  the  pen,  and  leave  the 
reader  under  the  delightful  impression,  that  Thaddy  and  Kathleen 
were  thenceforward  the  happiest  couple  upon  earth.  —  It  was  not 
more  than  six  weeks  from  the  period  of  his  liberation,  when  a  per 
son,  walking  in  the  evening,  near  the  little  dwelling,  which  was 
tenanted  by  Thaddy  Mashee,  was  attracted  by  groans,  proceeding 
apparently  from  some  person  in  distress.  He  approached  the  spot, 
and  not  far  from  the  door,  discovered  a  female,  who  was  unable  to 
rise.  Having  procured  a  light,  he  ascertained  that  this  unfortunate 
woman  was  Kathleen  Mashee.  She  was  conveyed  to  her  dwelling, 
whicii  was  in  terrible  confusion.  The  little  furniture  she  possessed 

VOL.  i.  20 


230  AN  IRISH  HEART. 

had  been  broken  to  p.eces  ;  the  cradle  was  knocked  over  and  the 
baby  was  turned  upon  the  floor ;  and  the  elder  child  lay  concealed 
beneath  the  bed.  From  him,  when  he  had  sufficiently  recovered 
from  his  terror,  they  learned,  that  his  father  had  come  home  crazy, 
and  broken  the  furniture,  and,  after  beating  his  mother  over  the 
head  repeatedly  with  a  chair,  had  dragged  her,  by  her  hair,  to  the 
spot  where  she  had  been  found.  Whither  his  father  had  fled  the 
boy  knew  not.  Poor  Kathleen,  by  the  kind  attention  of  the  neigh 
bors,  was  m  the  cour?e  of  a  few  weeks  restored  to  health.  She" still 
persisted  in  finding  excuses  for  Thaddy's  conduct.  —  "  There  niver 
was  a  kinder  nor  himself  upon  coult  wather,"  she  would  often  say, 
"H's  nathing  but  the  crathur."  —  Surely  there  is  too  much  of 
rationality,  in  such  an  allegation,  to  authorize  its  unqualified  rejec 
tion.  The  experience  of  the  world  has  taught  us,  that  the  tempta 
tions  to  drunkenness,  which  are  legalized  at  every  corner,  are  too 
powerful  for  the  poor  ;  and  that  a  vast  proportion  of  mankind,  who 
would  be  praiseworthy  in  the  various  relations  of  life  upon  "  coult 
wather,"  are  converted  into  maniacs  and  devils,  by  the  influence  of 
the  "crathur." 

After  this  horrible  outrage,  Thaddy  appears  to  have  fled,  for 
nothing  has  been  heard  of  him  to  the  present  hour.  Of  Kathleen 
we  can  only  speak  in  the  words  of  the  individual,  from  whom  we 
obtained  the  groundwork  of  this  narrative.  "  The  last  I  knew  of  this 
devoted  and  much  injured  woman,  she  was  asking  rjinrify  to  enable  her 
once  more  to  go  in  search  of  that  monster  of  a  husband,  ir/io  had  thus 
requited  her  sacrifices  and  her  love. ' ' 

When  we  contemplate  those  poor  emigrants,  who  aie  flocking 
among  us  from  the  Emerald  Isle,  oppressed  by  poverty,  and  through 
the  detestable  agency  of  our  grog-shops,  invited  to  the  commission 
of  every  variety  of  crime  ;  we  are  prone  to  speak  and  think  of  them 
as  an  offensive  and  dangerous  accession  to  the  popular  mass.  Before 
we  condemn  by  wholesale,  let  the  enlightened  philanthropists  of  our 
country,  endeavor  to  meliorate  their  condition,  by  removing  the 
means  of  drunkenness,  by  supplying  the  means  of  education,  and 
by  urging  upon  their  minds  the  claims  of  a  religion,  pure  and  unde- 
filed.  By  such  allurements  and  excitatives  as  these,  we  shall  be 
enabled  to  elevate  the  character  of  a  large  and  increasing  department 
of  our  population,  and  learn  to  estimate  the  real  value  of  A.N  IKISH 
HEART 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 


Anacharsig,  th«  Scythian  philosopher,  bein£  entertained  by  Periander,  king  of  Corinth,  derraadrd 
Jie  prize  for  being  the  first  drunk,  such,  as  he  affirmed,  being  the  end  and  aim  of  all  who  drink 
ntoxicating  liquors.*  Such  liquors,  unless  they  are  rendered  palatable,  by  the  addition  of  saccha- 
•me  or  other  agr.-eable  matters,  are  almost  universally  offensive  to  the  beginner.  The  pleasurable 
iensation,  which,  for  a  time,  accompanies  that  disturbance  of  the  functions  of  the  brain  and  nerves, 
produced  by  such  liquors,  is  a  part  of  the  process  of  inebriation  :  it  is  the  dawn  of  that  drunkenness, 
whose  mid-day  consists  of  woe,  and  sorrow,  contention  and  babbling,  wounds  without  cause,  and  ;  id- 
ness  of  eyes  ;  and  whose  night  terminates  in  apoplectic,  stertorous  sleep,  and  frightful  dreams. 
Disproportioned  as  are  the  pleasures  to  all  the  pains  of  drunkenness,  the  attainment  of  these  p^as- 
urea  is  the  end  and  aim  of  drinking,  and  the  sentiment  of  Anacharsis  is,  therefore,  undoubtedly  cor 
rect. 

These  pleasure*  may  be  purchased  at  various  prices;  and  will  he,  who  greatly  values  them,  but 
who  can  no  longer  afford  to  pay  the  highest  price,  forego  them  entirely,  or  purchase  the  joys  of 
drunkenness  at  a  lower  rate  ?  The  sensualist,  grown  poor,  descends  to  the  haunts  of  vulgar  licen 
tiousness.  The  gamester  turns  not  away  forever  from  his  reckless  course,  because  his  empty  pock 
ets  and  threadbare  apparel  admonish  him  to  forsake  more  fashionable  places  of  resort :  he  still 
hankers  after  his  darling  occupation,  and  throws  the  dice,  for  a  paltry  stake,  among  sharpers,  as 
ragged  and  wretched  as  nimselt.  Just  so  the  miserable  inebriate,  who  has  acquired  hu  unconquer 
able  relish,  upon  costly  wine,  at  the  table,  peradventure,  of  his  affluent  parents,  becomes  occasion 
ally  the  associate  of  those,  who  sleep  in  hovels,  and  whose  nectar  is  ram.  While,  therefore,  we 
admit  that  the  temperance  reform,  as  a  remedy,  may  be  uell  enough  for  the  vulgar,  we  commend  it, 
as  a  preventive,  to  the  enlightened  and  refined. 


"  How  I  used  to  hate  the  taste  of  it,"  said  master  Frederick,  a 
young  lad,  about  ten  years  of  age,  the  son  of  a  wealthy  planter,  as 
he  turned  off  his  heel-tap  of  Madeira.  —  "  When  you  first  made  mo 
drink  it,  mamma,  I  never  thought  I  should  ever  get  to  love  it  so 
well  as  I  do  now."  —  "  Well,  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton,  "  I 
trust  it  will  be  an  useful  lesson  to  you,  as  long  as  you  live ;  and  that 
hereafter  you  will  take  your  mother's  advice,  without  any  hesitation. 
Who  loves  you  better,  my  dear,  than  your  fond  parents ;  or  who 
can  be  supposed  to  know  what  is  for  your  good,  more  certainly 
than  they?  To  be  sure,  you  made  a  sad  piece  of  work  of  it,  at 
first ;  and  it  was  really  distressing,  to  witness  the  wry  faces,  which 
you  used  to  make  up,  whenever  you  tasted  a  little  wine.  But  you 
do  a  great  deal  better  than  you  did,  my  dear.  Still,  I  think  there  is 
room  for  a  little  improvement,  Frederick.  You  are  not  quite  so 
graceful  in  your  manner  of  taking  wine,  as  I  wish  you  to  be.  There 
is  master  McKilderkin,  the  general's  son ;  how  much  like  a  man  he 
takes  his  glass,  when,"  —  "  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Frederick, 
.nterrupting  his  mother,  "  they  are  all  the  time  having  company,  at 
Geneial  McKilderkin's,  and  William  has  had  so  much  more  expe- 

*  Archaeol.  Groec.  Vol.  II.,  p.  406. 


282  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

rience  than  I  have.  Don't  you  remember,  when  we  all  dined  there 
last  week,  mamma,  that  the  general  said  William  had  a  fine  taste 
in  wines ;  and  that  he  actually  knew  the  Cockroach  wine  from  the 
Serapis,  when  old  Admiral  Hardhead  could  not  tell  them  apart, 
though  he  has  drunken  more  wine,  the  general  says,  than  any  living 
man,  of  his  age?"  —  "  But  William  McKilderkin  lifts  his  glass  so 
gracefully  from  the  table,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Broughton  ;  "  here,  look 
at  me  ;  put  some  wine  in  your  glass."  Frederick  filled  his  glass, 
3 nd  imitated  the  movement  of  his  mother.  "  Tolerably  well,"  said 
sue,  "  but  you  want  practice,  my  son."  Master  Frederick  indicated 
his  displeasure,  by  setting  down  his  empty  glass,  with  some  vio 
lence,  upon  the  table. 

At  that  moment,  Mr.  Broughton,  who  had  been  absent,  for  a  short 
time,  resumed  his  seat.  "What's  the  matter,  Fred?"  said  he, 
observing  that  his  son  was  not  in  a  pleasant  humor. —  "  Why,  moth 
er  's  been  scolding  me,"  replied  this  interesting  youth,  "  because  I 
<k>n't  drink  wine  like  Bill  McKilderkin.'' — "Oh  no,  Frederick, 
my  love,"  .replied  Mrs.  Broughton,  "I  only," —  "Well,  never 
mind,  don't  let's  have  any  words  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Broughton  ; 
"fill  your  glass,  Fred."  —  "He  has  drunk  three  glasses  already, 
my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton.  —  "  Three  glasses,  eh  !  has  he?" 
said  her  husband  ;  "  well,  well,  never  mind,  this  pure  old  Monteiro 
never  harmed  a  fly.  Now,  Fred,  never  refuse  in  company,  my  son, 
—  nothing  so  awkward.  I '11  tell  you  a  story  about  that.  There 
was  old  Jotham  Hawbuck,  a  senator  from  Onion  county,  in  tho 
State  of  Massachusetts  :  he  was  dining  with  the  governor,  in  com 
pany  with  eighteen  or  twenty  gentlemen  :  — '  Shall  I  have  the 
honor  of  a  glass  of  wine  with  you,  Mr.  Hawbuck?'  said  the  gov 
ernor.  Poor  Hawbuck  had  never  been  in  such  harness  before.  He 
colored,  and  stuttered,  and  finally  stammered  out,  '  I  'd  much  rather 
not,  your  excellency!'  —  Last  Friday,  I  was  dining  with  Colonel 
Johnson :  an  old-fashioned  body,  by  the  name  of  Gookin,  was  at 
table  ;  some  business  acquaintance,  who  had  come  up  the  river,  to 
look  at  his  cotton,  and  whom  the  colonel  felt  himself  obliged  to 
invite.  We  had  a  haunch  of  venison  for  dinner.  Everybody  had 
finished  the  first  course  but  old  Gookin.  He  held  on  to  his  venison, 
like  a  Burgundy-pitch  plaster.  'Mr.  Gookin,'  said  Colonel  John 
son,  in  his  very  courteous  and  gentlemanly  way,  '  indulge  me  in  the 
pleasure  of  a  glass  of  wine  with  you.'  — '  Not  yet^  said  old  Gookin, 
wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  Bob  Johnson,  the 
?olonel's  son.  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  his  mother  sent  him 
f-nni  table.  —  Never  refuse,  Fired ;  and  be  sure  to  drink  with  all  the 
laaies." 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  233 

' c  Well,  wife,"  said  Mr.  Broughton,  "  where  do  we  go  to-night?" 
—  "We  are  engaged,  to-night,  my  dear,  at  Mrs.  Noodle's," 
replied  Mrs.  Broughton.  —  "  Mercy  upon  us !  so  we  are,"  cried  her 
husband  ;  "  I  had  forgot  all  about  it.  Well,  the  distiller's  lady  will 
show  off  in  great  style,  I  've  no  doubt.  Old  Noodle  is  amazingly 
rich,  yet  I  well  remember  the  time  when  his  whole  estate  was 
invested  in  a  horse  and  dray.  When  Dr.  Smith  preached  his  ex 
cellent  sermon  upon  temperance,  last  Sunday,  I  looked  over  at 
Noodle's  pew  ;  and  when  the  doctor  spoke,  in  pretty  strong  terms, 
of  those,  who  become  the  ministers  of  ruin,  by  importing  and  distill 
ing,  though  it  was  a  chilly  morning,  I  saw  old  Noodle  wipe  the  per 
spiration  repeatedly  from  his  forehead.  I  wonder  how  he  can  hold 
on  to  such  a  business ;  I  confess  I  have  no  patience  with  such  a  man , 
and  I  have  no  pleasure  in  going  to  his  house  to-night.  By  the  way, 
my  dear,  Dr.  Smith  gave  me  several  temperance  tales,  and  asked 
me  to  think  seriously  of  joining  the  temperance  society :  what  do 
you  think  of  if?"  —  "  Why,  Mr.  Broughton  !"  said  his  lady,  "  you 
certainly  cannot  be  in  earnest.  I  'm  sure  I  would  not  join  such  a 
society  for  the  world."  —  "Why,  my  dear,"  rejoined  her  husband, 
"  it  would  cost  us  nothing,  if  we  did.  I  don't  believe  we  consume 
a  quart,  of  gin  or  brandy,  in  a  twelvemonth ;  and,  as  to  rum  and 
whiskey,  I  don't  know  that  they  are  used  in  our  family  at  all." 
"Dear  Mr.  Broughton,"  rejoined  his  partner,  "why,  Venus  and 
Diana,  the  washerwomen,  drink  half  a  pint  of  gin  apiece,  every 
Monday ;  old  Sukey,  the  cook,  could  not  live  without  brandy ; 
neither  mince  pies  nor  cake  can  be  made  without  it ;  besides,  Mr. 
Broughton,  your  punch  in  the  summer,  only  think  of  it,  —  your 
punch,  my  love!"  —  "True,  true,  my  dear,"  said  her  husband, 
"  I  spoke  without  much  reflection.  You  understand  these  domes 
tic  matters  better  than  I  do,  of  course.  But,  when  I  heard  Dr. 
Smith  so  feelingly  describe  the  misery  produced  by  distilled  spirits, 
and  the  good  that  would  result  from  these  societies,  I  did  give  him 
a  little  encouragement,  to  be  sure."  —  "Why,  Mr.  Broughton,  I 
wonder  at  you,"  replied  his  wife  ;  "  Ashur,  the  coachman,  is  con 
stantly  coming  to  me  for  money,  to  buy  New  England  rum,  to  rub 
old  Sorrel's  legs.  Only  yesterday,  he  purchased  a  two-gallon 
flagon  at  the  grocer's."  —  "Did  he,  indeed!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Broughton;  "that  accounts  for  his  conduct.  I  have  serious  doubts, 
if  it  all  goes  to  rub  old  Sorrel's  legs.  Ashur  was  evidently  drunk 
all  day."  —  "  But,  my  dear  husband,"  continued  Mrs.  Broughton, 
"  how  many  acquaintances  and  friends  we  have,  who  drop  in,  every 
day  or  two,  and  take  a  little  cordial.  How  awkward  it  would  seem 
to  be  obliged  to  say,  that  we  could  not  offer  them  a  drop  of  it, 


234          WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

because  we  belonged  to  the  temperance  society !"  —  "  Well.  well, 
my  dear,"  replied  her  husband,  "I  have  not  positively  promised 
Dr.  Smith  to  join  the  society,  though  he  tells  me  the  pledge, 
at  present,  extends  only  to  distilled  liquors."  —  "  And  I  hope,  Mr. 
Broughton,  you  never  will,"  rejoined  his  wife  :  "  I  agree,  entirely, 
with  my  excellent  friend,  Mrs.  Scarlet,  that  the  temperance  society 
is  well  enough  for  the  vulgar;  but  that  it  is  really  ridiculous  for 
genteel  people,  who  drink  little  else  than  good  wine  or  porter,  that 
never  hurt  anybody,  to  put  their  names  to  a  paper,  which  contains 
the  names  already  of  so  many  people,  that  nobody  knows  anything 
about.  Besides,  Mr.  Broughton,  both  you  and  myself  have  natu 
rally  considerable  color,  and  to  join  such  a  society,  would  almost 
amount  to  an  admission  that  we  were  in  the  habit  of  drinking  ardent 
spirit  ourselves.  Still,  I  don't  deny,  that  it  may  be  well  enough 
for  the  vulgar." 

Mr.  Broughton  sat  twirling  his  thumbs,  in  silence,  like  an  irreso 
lute  being,  as  he  was.  The  volubility  of  his  wife  had,  upon  this, 
as  upon  many  other  occasions,  reduced  him  to  the  conviction,  that 
his  strength  lay  in  sitting  still.  He  preserved  a  silence  worthy  of 
a  good  subaltern ;  and  his  lady,  perceiving  that  the  topic  was  not 
likely  to  move  him  again  for  the  present,  retired,  for  the  purpose  of 
making  her  preparations  to  visit  Mrs.  Noodle,  in  the  evening.  Mr. 
Broughton  took  his  cigar,  and  sauntered,  for  half  an  hour,  in  the 
garden. 

The  time  at  length  arrived  ;  the  coach  was  at  the  door ;  and  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Broughton,  with  many  charges  to  Frederick,  to  be  a  good 
boy,  and  go  to  bed  in  good  season,  drove  away  to  Mrs.  Noodle's. 

"  They  're  gone  Tom,"  said  this  promising  heir,  as  he  turned  the 
key,  behind  their  backs,  calling  a  little  negro,  about  fourteen  years  of 
age.  —  "Be  they  gone,  massa  Frederick?"  inquired  this  valuable 
domestic,  creeping,  at  the  same  time,  warily  forward,  with  his  eyes 
all  about  him.  —  Becoming  satisfied,  that  the  coast  was  clear,  Tom 
proceeded  with  master  Frederick,  to  ransack  the  lockers  for  sweet 
meats  ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  quantity  of  wine  the  latter  had 
swallowed  at  the  dinner  table,  the  relish  for  that  liquor,  already 
acquired,  impelled  this  youthful  victim  of  intemperance,  —  for  such 
in  reality  he  was,  even  at  this  early  age,  —  to  additional  indulgence. 
He  was  in  the  very  act  of  playing  my  little  Lord  Bountiful,  and 
helping  his  sable  associate  to  a  second  glass,  when  the  sharp,  shrill 
voice  of  Mrs.  Gale,  the  house-keeper,  converted  their  entertainment 
into  anything  but  a  soireb  musicale.  "  Hoity,  toity!"  cried  the 
<vorthy  Mrs.  Gale,  "  your  mother  shall  know  of  this,  master  Fred- 
crick,  before  to-morrow  morning."  —  "Tell  of  me,  if  you  dare. 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.          235 

mother  Gale,"  answered  this  promising  youth,  "  and  see  if  I  don't 
tell  father  how  you  steal,  and  give  away  the  flour  and  sugar."  — 
"  No  such  thing,"  cried  Mrs.  Gale;  "hold  your  tongue,  you  little 
rogue :  come,  be  a  good  boy,  and  I  won't  say  a  word  about  it,  and 
I  '11  make  you  a  turn-over,  to-morrow,  dear.  But  as  for  you,  you 
little  black  dog,  I'll  expose  you,  as  sure  as  you  live,"  continued 
she,  turning  to  the  negro  boy.  —  "Guess  better  not,  missy  Gale, 
ha,  ha,  ha,"  replied  Tom,  with  a  provokingly  significant  leer; 
"  guess  better  not,  better  let  de  matter  drop,  missy  Gale  ;  —  don  ye 
know,  toder  day,  ha,  ha,  ha,  missy  Gale!"  —  "Well,  well,  get 
along  about  your  business,  you  impudent  varlet,"  said  Mrs.  Gale, 
"  I  shan't  bring  you  into  trouble,  this  time,  at  any  rate."  —  "  Ha, 
ha,  better  not,  missy  Gale  !"  still  echoed  through  the  entry. 
"Get  along,  get  along,"  cried  the  house-keeper. — The  inter 
changeable  relations  of  the  parties  appeared  too  plainly  to  indicate 
the  propriety  of  peace.  Indeed,  such  exhibitions  as  these  were  of 
no  uncommon  occurrence  in  the  well  regulated  family  of  Mr. 
Broughton. 

Mr.  Broughton  and  his  lady  arrived  in  front  of  the  distiller's  splen 
did  mansion,  rather  earlier  than  comported  with  the  point  of  fashion, 
as  it  was  only  half  past  nine,  just  as  the  carriage  drew  up  before 
the  door.  A  blaze  of  light  poured  forth  from  the  windows,  and 
illuminated  the  public  way.  "A  very  beautiful  mansion,  my  dear," 
said  Mrs.  Broughton,  as  she  alighted.  "  Very,  very,  my  dear," 
replied  her  husband,  "  but  it  wants  one  thing."  —  "And  pray  what 
is  that?"  inquired  his  lady.  —  "A  pithy  couplet  over  the  front  door, 
like  that  in  front  of  one  of  the  gin  palaces  in  London : 

'  WHO  JD   HAVE   THOUGHT   IT  ? 
GlN   BOUGHT   IT  ! ' 

"Put  rum  for  gin,  and  the  whole  truth  will  be  fairly  told."  — 
"  Oh,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton,  in  a  whisper,  "  for  pity's 
sake,  say  nothing  about  the  temperance  society  to-night ;  the  very 
naming  of  it  is  enough  to  sink  one's  reputation  for  gentility.  It 's 
well  enough  for  the  vulgar ;  but  pray  say  nothing  of  it  among  fash 
ionable  people." —  The  close  of  this  exhortation  brought  them  to 
the  door  of  a  crowded  saloon,  where  some  hundreds  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen  were  standing  together,  as  compactly  as  a  cane-brake 
Nothing  can  be  more  perplexing  to  the  ear  of  a  novice,  than  the 
sound  of  that  unintelligible  "jangle,"  which  commonly  issues  from 
the  door  of  entrance,  where  a  fashionable  mob,  of  both  sexes  and  ol 
every  age,  are  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  "  the  feast  of  reason,  and  the 
flo^  of  soul."  The  rush  of  mighty  waters  is  quite  another  affair. 


236          WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

The  club  meeting,  so  admirably  described  by  Oliver  Goldsmith 
where  aU  voices  were  blended,  and  where  he,  who  had  the  loudest 
voice,  had  also  the  longest  story  to  tell,  bears  some  little  analogy  to 
the  confusion  of  such  an  assembly  as  this.  I  confess,  that  the 
recollections  of  many  idle  hours,  wasted  in  such  scenes  as  these, 
have  been  forcibly  revived,  in  after  time,  when,  upon  a  clear,  star 
light  night,  musing  alone,  upon  the  deck  of  a  Mississippi  steamer, 
I  have  listened  to  the  wittenag  emote,  or  nocturnal  parliament  of  buz- 
fcards,  herons,  pelicans,  and  cranes ;  who  fill  the  wilderness  with 
their  inharmonious  cackle,  extremely  edifying  to  themselves,  beyond 
a  doubt,  but  quite  unintelligible  to  all  beside. 

Mr.  Broughton  had  no  small  difficulty,  in  squeezing  himself  and 
Mrs.  Broughton,  through  the  crowd,  for  the  purpose  of  paying  their 
respects  to  the  lady  of  the  house.  "  Which  way  is  Mrs.  Noodle?" 
said  he,  addressing  Major  McTab,  one  of  the  greatest  wags  in  the 
city.  —  "  Somewhere,  in  this  elegant  receiver,"  replied  the  major, 
with  a  laugh  :  "  Warm  your  way  along,  my  dear  Mr.  Broughton," 
continued  he.  —  "Fie,  fie,  Major,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton,  in  an 
undertone;  "your  spirits  fairly  run  away  with  you."  —  "Highly 
rectified,  madam,  ha,  ha,  ha,"  replied  the  major.  —  "  What  a  cox 
comb!"  said  Mrs.  Broughton  to  her  husband,  in  a  whisper.  —  They 
had  scarcely  passed,  before  Major  McTab,  wheeling  round  upou 
Miss  Cecilia  Clicket,  a  maiden  lady,  of  no  particular  age,  com 
menced  a  severe  attack  upon  the  ugliness  and  affectation  of  the 
Broughtons ;  while,  at  the  same  moment,  a  bevy  of  law-students, 
who  were  holding  their  lawless  court,  in  a  corner,  were  making 
themselves  exceedingly  merry,  by  mooting  the  question  of  happiness 
01  misery,  in  case  of  a  marriage  between  Clicket  and  McTab. 

After  much  edging  and  shoving,  Mr.  Broughton  and  his  lady 
succeeded,  in  coming  near  enough  to  Mrs.  Noodle,  to  accomplish  the 
great  object  of  their  visit,  —  to  execute  a  courtesy,  in  the  smallest 
imaginable  compass,  —  to  force  one  heartless  smile,  —  and  then  to 
mingle  instantly  with  the  promiscuous  crowd,.  It  was  intolerable. 
—  Poor  Mrs.  Noodle  !  like  many  others,  who  have  suddenly 
emerged  from  humble  life,  she  had  gone,  headlong,  to  the  very 
extremity  of  fashion.  Her  figure  was  exceedingly  short,  and  noth 
ing  had  been  omitted,  which  the  code  of  quality  prescribed,  to  render 
her  unlike  her  identical  self.  What  was  the  unrelenting  severity 
of  the  laws  of  Aristides  or  Lycurgus,  compared  with  those  of  fash 
ion!  By  the  aid  of  unnatural  ligatures  and  preposterous  appen 
dages  poor  Mrs.  Noodle  had  brought  herself  into  the  similitude  of  a 
locomotive  hour-glass,  saving  that  she  had  little  thought  or  care  of 
time  still  less  of  eternity.  —  The  crowd  was  prodigious.  Cato,  one 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE. VULGAR  237 

of  those  professional  gentlemen,  who  is  everywhere  at  home,  was 
proceeding  through  this  dense  multitude,  bearing  a  waiter,  loaded 
with  ice-creams  and  liqueurs.  At  the  very  moment  when  she  stepped 
backward,  to  return  Mrs.  Bioughton's  salutation,  she  overthrew  the 
first  battalion  of  ice-creams,  and  ruined  her  new  gros  de  Naples.  — 
"Bishops  are  eternally  in  trouble,"  said  Major  McTab.  At  this 
moment,  the  noise  and  rattle  were  suddenly  suspended  by  reason  of  a 
loud  and  sharp  cry  from  the  adjoining  apartment.  Old  Madam  Goose, 
whose  ruling  passion  for  parties  and  routs  was  as  strong  at  the  ajuro 
of  seventy-four  as  it  had  been  at  sixteen,  and  who  visited  on  crutches, 
had  most  unluckily  planted  one  of  her  supporters  on  the  gouty 
toe  of  old  General  McKilderkin.  The  silence  of  the  assembly  was 
momentary  only  ;  and  in  a  short  time,  the  confusion  of  old  voices 
and  young  ones,  treble,  tenor,  and  base,  defied  all  earthly  compar 
ison. 

It  must  have  been  remarked,  by  every  careful  observer,  who,  at 
any  period  of  his  life,  has  wasted  his  fleeting  hours  in  the  midst  of 
such  costly  fooleries,  as  were  exhibiting  in  the  mansion  of  the  dis 
tiller's  lady ;  that  no  individual  present  is  particularly  desirous  of 
understanding  anything,  which  is  uttered  by  another,  but  is  vehe 
mently  bent  upon  being  understood  himself.  The  speakers  are  eager 
and  animated,  and  raise  their  voices  to  the  highest  pitch  ;  while  the 
listeners,  if  such  they  may  be  called,  stand  with  vacant  faces,  twirl 
ing  their  thumbs,  or  playing  with  their  watch  trinkets,  or  fans,  and 
turning  their  eyes  and  their  thoughts,  in  every  direction  but  that 
of  the  speaker. 

Mrs.  Noodle  had  been  careful  that  no  point  of  gentility  should  be 
overlooked  ;  a  small  apartment,  adjoining  the  drawing  room,  was 
accordingly  devoted  to  the  hot  whiskey  punch-bowl ;  which  was 
continually  emptied  of  its  contents,  and  as  constantly  replenished.  — 
"Positively  the  worst  I  ever  tasted,"  said  Major  McTab,  lo  his 
next  neighbor,  as  he  turned  off  his  glass  ;  "  depend  upon  it,  the  old 
fellow  distilled  the  whiskey  himself."  —  "Why,  Major!"  cried 
Miss  Midget,  who  was  as  constant  at  every  rout,  as  old  Patrick 
Mahony,  the  undertaker,  at  every  funeral,  "you  are  too  severe;  1 
have,  certainly,  tasted  worse."  —  "Mercy  upon  us,"  said  Mr. 
Broughton,  in  an  under  tone,  as  he  entered  the  punch  room,  "  what 
would  good  Dr.  Smith  say  to  this  !  I  have  been  wondering  from 
what  quarter  this  strong  smell  of  ardent  spirit  proceeded."  —  "  Ha 
ha,  ha!  pray  tell  us,  Broughton,"  cried  the  major,  "are  you  a 
member  of  the  temperance  society  1  —  drink  no  wine,  I  suppose,  eh  ?" 
—  '•'  No,  Major  McTab,  I  am  not  a  member  of  the  temperance  soci- 
•ty,"  replied  Mr.  Broughton,  "  and  I  still  drink  my  pure  old  wine, 


238  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

and  relish  it  as  highly  as  ever.  In  this  I  can  see  no  harm  ;  and,  if 
the  friends  of  temperance  contemplate  the  exclusion  of  wine,  they 
are  certainly  going  too  far,  and  will  ruin  the  cause.  But  I  must 
sa>  that  the  introduction  of  whiskey  punch  into  fashionable  parties, 
does  not  appear  to  me  to  be  in  perfectly  good  taste.  It  seems  to  me 
to  amount  almost  to  an  insult  to  the  friends  of  humanity."  —  "  Ha, 
ha,  ha :  dear  me,  good  Mr.  Broughton,"  rejoined  McTab,  with  great 
vivacity;  "I'll  bet  a  quarter-cask  of  Madeira  against  a  pair  of 
bands,  that  you'll  take  orders  before  this  day  twelve-month !"-— 
"Gracious  Heaven!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Broughton,  as  she  jostled 
forward  into  the  very  centre  of  this  noisy  circle  ;  "  dear  Mr.  Brough 
ton,  what  are  you  talking  about?  do  let  the  temperance  societies 
alone,  they  are  well  enough  for  the  vulgar,  as  you  have  often  heard 
me  say,  but  how,  in  the  name  of  common  sense,  can  they  concern 
people  of  fashion!"  —  At  this  moment,  a  rap  on  the  centre-table 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  company  to  the  Hon.  Mr.  Gross,  a 
gray-haired,  portly  gentleman,  with  a  triple  chin,  and  a  voluminous 
countenance,  overflowing  with  broad  good  humor,  and  indicating 
little  else.  This  gentleman  had  been  once  a  senator  of  the  Com 
monwealth,  and  he  was  remarkable  for  the  measure  of  ease  and 
unconcern,  with  which  he  reposed  upon  his  bed  of  down,  without 
thought  or  care  for  the  harder  fortunes  of  others.  In  the  words  of 
an  extraordinary  sermon,  recently  published,  he  had  studied  to  keep 
himself  aloof  from  the  "  gustiness"  of  the  times  ;  he  had  not  suffered 
himself  to  be  transported  by  the  "  fervors"  around  him  ;  and  he  had 
carefully  avoided  all  connection  with  the  "great  transient  move 
ments"  of  the  day,  such  as  "  Bible,  education,  missionary  and  tern 
perince  societies."  In  sho~%  this  worthy  gentleman,  according  to 
the  outward  indication  of  his  uncommonly  sleek  and  rosy  visage, 
ate  and  drank  to  perfection,  and  prosed,  at  a  terrible  rate,  of  man's 
independence  and  moral  power.  He  very  much  resembled  a  great 
moral  toad-stool,  which  overshadowed  and  sterilized  to  the  extent 
of  its  circumference.  —  Having  riveted  the  attention  of  the  company, 
by  a  few  smart  raps  upon  the  table,  —  "  A  sentiment,  my  friends," 
said  the  Hon.  Mr.  Gross ;  "  with  your  permission,  I  will  give  you  a 
sentiment."  He  then  filled  his  glass  to  the  brim  with  whiskey 
punch,  and,  as  he  raised  it  to  his  lips,  pronounced,  amid  shouts  of 
jaughter,  "  Total  abstinence  !  " 

It  was  riow  after  midnight ;  and  Mrs.  Broughton  availed  of  the 
confusion  to  abstract  her  husband  from  this  interesting  circle  of 
practical  philanthropists.  The  parting  courtesy  to  the  hostess  was 
hastily  performed,  and  they  had  scarcely  entered  their  caniage 
before  Mrs.  Broughton  poured  forth  the  prelude  of  a  curtain  lecture, 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  239 

upon  gentility,  and  fashion,  and  caste,  and  the  outlandish  absurdity 
of  temperance  societies.  All  this,  Mr.  Broughton  patiently  endured, 
with  many  excuses  and  promises  of  amendment. — "Well,  my 
dear,"  said  Mr.  Broughton,  "  what  a  stupid  time  we  have  had  of  it. 
For  my  own  part,  I  should  be  happy  never  to  be  jammed  almost  to 
death  in  one  of  these  crowds  again."  —  "We  must  do  it,  Mr. 
Broughton,"  replied  his  worthy  partner ;  "  I  dislike  it  as  much  as 
you  do ;  but  our  standing  in  polite  society,  and  the  fortunes  of 
our  children  make  it  indispensable."  This  excellent  couple  then 
amused  themselves  with  the  follies  and  weaknesses,  ugly  faces,  ana 
ill-breeding,  ill-shaped  dresses,  and  conceited  airs  of  all  those  very 
dear  friends,  with  whom  they  had  so  recently  appeared  to  be  on  the 
best  terms  in  the  world.  The  account  was  unquestionably  balanced, 
as  the  Holland  merchants  say,  to  a  point ;  and  the  Broughtons  were 
not  forgotten  by  their  friends. 

The  festival  was  over.  The  last  of  the  long  line  of  carriages  had 
scarcely  driven  from  the  door,  before  Mr.  Noodle  commenced  the 
operation  of  extinguishing  the  lamps,  and  turning  down  the  candles, 
while  his  estimable  partner,  like  an  indefatigable  wrecker,  was 
busily  engaged  in  the  collection  and  preservation  of  the  remnants. 
—  Without  any  important  departure  from  the  continuous  course  of 
this  little  narrative,  may  we  not  stop  to  inquire  what  is  the  real 
practical  advantage  of  such  gatherings  as  these!  Had  the  least 
imaginable  benefit  accrued  to  any  individual !  Was  the  sum  total 
of  amiability  increased  in  a  single  bosom !  In  all  this,  was  there 
the  slightest  symptom  of  religious,  moral,  or  intellectual  improve 
ment  !  If  there  were  any  addition  to  the  quantum  of  human  happi 
ness,  how  can  we  account  for  the  very  general  exclamation,  bursting 
spontaneously,  at  the  first  convenient  moment,  from  guest  and 
entertainer,  "  Thank  Heaven,  it  is  over ! "  The  Noodles  had  given 
mortal  offence  to  sundry  uninvited  relatives  and  acquaintances,  and 
they  had  added  nothing  to  their  own  happiness  or  respectability. 
They  had  opened  an  account  with  the  most  heartless  portion  of  their 
fellow-beings,  the  votaries  of  fashion ;  whose  standard  of  excellence 
is  the  depth  of  a  flounce,  or  the  adjustment  of  a  feather,  and  the 
least  perishable  memorials  of  whose  friendship  are  frequently  exe 
cuted  in  pasteboard. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Broughton  were  met  at  *,he  door,  by  that  paragon 
of  house-keepers,  good,  honest  Mrs.  Gale,  who  informed  them,  that 
master  Frederick  had  behaved  like  a  little  gentleman,  but  was 
rather  feverish.  Mrs.  Broughton  immediately  repaired  to  the 
chamber.  She  found  him  in  a  violent  fever ;  and,  without  any 
inquiry,  in  relation  to  the  cause,  directed  a  pint  of  wine-whey,  which 
was  faithfully  administered  by  Mrs.  Gale. 


240  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR 

Nothing  could  have  been  farther  from  the  minds  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Broughton,  than  the  suspicion,  that  master  Frederick  was  then  under 
the  influence  of  liquor.  A  skilful  reasoner  would  have  undertaken 
a  very  difficult  task,  had  he  attempted  to  convince  Mr.  Broughton 
oi  the  fact,  even  if  the  veracious  Mrs.  Gale  had  been  prevailed  on 
to  disclose  the  whole  truth.  The  little  fellow  had  taken  nothing 
but  excellent  old  wine,  which  Mr.  Broughton  believed  to  be  a  most 
innocent  beverage.  It  was  indeed  true,  that  master  Frederick  had 
taken  nothing  but  excellent  old  wine ;  but  it  was  not  less  true,  that 
master  Frederick  was  absolutely  drunk.  There  is  nothing  unusual 
or  unaccountable  in  this.  The  premises  were  certainly  strong 
enough  to  support  the  conclusion.  The  quantity  of  "  excellent  old 
wine,'''  which  he  had  taken  at  the  dinner-table,  with  his  father  and 
mother,  by  way  of  perfecting  himself  in  the  practice  of  propi- 
nation,  as  the  process  of  health-drinking  was  styled,  among  the  old 
topers  of  Rome,  had  been  quite  sufficient  to  produce  that  distur 
bance  of  the  functions  of  the  brain,  in  a  mere  child,  which  may  be 
called  the  first  stage  of  drunkenness.  In  the  language  of  the  tem 
perate  drinker,  the  quantity  he  had  already  taken,  had  made  him  "feel 
belter;"  he  was  of  opinion,  that  there  could  not  be  too  much  of  a 
good  thing ;  and  as  he  had  no  objection  to  a  farther  improvement  of 
his  condition,  he  had  proceeded  to  those  subsequent  indulgences 
with  Tom,  the  negro  boy,  which  had  been  interrupted,  as  we  have 
already  related,  by  Mrs.  Gale.  When  he  threw  himself  upon  his 
bed,  he  was  certainly  drunk.  How  many  thousands,  male  and 
female,  young  and  old,  have  been  reduced  to  the  same  condition 
upon  "  excellent  old  wine,  which  never  hurt  a  fly;"  and  whom  nobody 
ever  saw  "  the  worse  for  liquor  !"  If  any  parent  should  marvel  at 
the  production  of  drunkenness,  in  one  so  young,  by  the  use  of  two 
or  three  glasses  of  "  excellent  old  wine,"  we  can  only  marvel,  in 
turn,  at  such  lamentable  ignorance  of  cause  and  effect.  If  the  aged 
patriarch  of  the  flood  was  "  drunken,"  as  he  certainly  was,  upon  the 
fermented  juice  of  the  grape,  which  contained  not  the  smallest 
particle  of  distilled  alcohol ;  may  not  the  same  result  at  least  be 
expected,  in  an  adult,  and  more  surely  in  a  child,  from  the  use  of 
that  "excellent  old  wine,"  which  is  proved,  by  chemical  analysis, 
to  contain  a  large  amount  of  added  alcohol,  the  product  of  distil 
lation  ? 

Those  years,  which,  to  a  parent's  observation,  appear  to  creep 
slowly,  from  the  cradle  to  the  age  of  eight  or  ten,  seem  to  acquire 
additional  celerity,  from  that  half-way  house  to  the  goal  of  man 
hood.  Through  many  similar  passages,  and  under  the  miserable 
discipline  of  such  injudicious  parents,  Frederick  Broughton  had 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  241 

advarced  to  the  age,  not  of  discretion,  but  of  eighteen  years. 
He  was  about  to  graduate  at  the  university.  By  reason  of  special 
favor,  he  had  been  enabled  to  retain  his  position,  to  the  close  of  his 
collegiate  career.  He  had  nearly  completed  his  education ;  and,  if 
he  had  acquired  a  high  reputation,  in  any  particular  department,  it 
was  in  that,  wherein  his  fond  mother  was  so  desirous  that  he  should 
excel ;  it  was  agreed,  on  all  hands,  that,  as  practice  makes  perfect, 
no  young  gentleman  took  his  glass  in  better  style,  than  Frederick 
Broughton.  Shortly  after  he  left  the  university,  he  entered  his 
name  in  the  office  of  an  eminent  barrister ;  and,  having  hung  up  his 
hat  on  a  particular  nail,  three  or  four  times  a  week,  for  the  space  of 
three  years,  he  was  admitted  to  practice  at  the  bar.  Frederick  was 
an  extremely  idle,  and  very  gentlemanly  fellow  ;  and  nothing  could 
have  been  more  repugnant  to  his  disposition  than  those  habits  of 
labor,  without  which  no  permanent  distinction  can  ever  be  acquired 
in  this  laborious  profession.  He  opened  an  office,  however,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  in  which  he  sate,  two  or  three  hours  a  day,  for 
half  a  year.  His  ill  success  was  a  source  of  infinite  surprise  to  his 
parents,  and  particularly  to  Mrs.  Broughton.  He  had  received  a 
liberal  education  ;  his  manners  were  highly  polished ;  and,  at  bar 
dinners,  it  was  acknowledged,  that  nobody  took  his  glass  in  such  a 
gentlemanly  style,  as  Frederick  Broughton.  —  His  fond  parents 
became  persuaded,  that  he  was  intended  for  something  better  than 
the  mere  drudgery  of  the  law.  Frederick  was  by  no  means  deficient 
in  personal  appearance,  and  he  was  unanimously  elected  to  the  com 
mand  of  a  militia  company;  for  which  office,  during  the  "  piping 
tinifB  of  peace,"  he  was  by  no  means  indifferently  qualified.  The 
law  was  as  easily  abandoned,  as  any  other  object,  which  had  attracted 
Ihb  fancy  without  affecting  the  heart.  He  was  exceedingly  popular. 
Training  and  treating  soon  became  the  absorbing  considerations  of 
his  existence.  It  was  now  very  commonly  understood,  that  Captain 
Broughton  was  a  dear  lover  of  good  liquor.  He  was  liberal,  and 
even  lavish,  in  his  entertainments.  His  promotion  was  a  matter  of 
course,  and  he  was  soon  elected  colonel  of  the  regiment ;  upon 
which  occasion  he  gave  a  striking  evidence  of  his  attachment  to  the 
service,  by  getting  so  helplessly  drunk,  that  it  became  necessary  to 
cany  him  home  in  a  carriage,  from  the  public  house.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Br<  tighten  were  excessively  shocked  by  this  unexpected  occurrence ; 
but  they  were  greatly  relieved,  on  the  following  morning,  upon  the 
co'onel's  "  'pon  honor,  dear  father,  'twas  nothing  but  excellent 
o.M  wine,  from  your  own  cellar,  and  which  never  hurt  a  fly." 
A  \  this  period  it  was  not  esteemed  so  very  disgraceful  to  be  drunk, 
rvf  ecially  for  militia  colonels,  as  it  is  at  the  present  day.  Colonel 

VOL.  I.  21 


242  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

Broughton's  "  high  go,"  as  it  was  called,  so  far  from  operating  to 
his  disadvantage,  was  considered  an  evidence  of  spirit.  It  certainly 
did  not  obstruct,  but  rather  tended  to  advance  his  further  promotion 
to  the  office  of  brigadier  general,  which  occurred  about  six  months 
afterwards. 

General  Broughton  had  long  passed  that  era,  at  which  young 
men,  who  have  a  just  regard  for  the  proprieties  of  life,  and  a  proper 
sense  of  shame,  are  desirous  of  taking  up  the  implements  of  honest 
industry,  for  their  own  support ;  and  of  avoiding  even  the  appear 
ance  of  dependence  upon  their  indulgent  fathers.  Such  considera 
tions  did  not  appear  to  have  the  slightest  influence  in  disturbing  the 
general's  equanimity.  The  law,  as  we  have  suggested,  seemed  to 
be  abandoned.  Broughton  was  a  good-natured  man.  and  no  one 
was  ever  more  ready  than  himself,  to  laugh  heartily  at  his  feeble 
attempt,  or  to  admit  his  entire  ignorance  of  the  profession.  He 
frankly  declared,  that,  beside  some  half  dozen  collection  cases,  lie 
never  had  more  than  one  client  in  his  life,  of  whom  he  gave  the 
following  amusing  account,  during  a  military  supper,  where  he  had 
not  drunk  more  than  half  a  dozen  glasses.  "  He  was  an  Irishman  ; 
his  name  was  Phelim  McGrath,"  said  the  general ;  "  I  was  sitting 
in  my  office,  with  a  cigar  in  my  mouth,  reading  Byron's  Don  Juan. 
The  door  flew  open,  and  this  fellow  exclaimed,  in  great  haste, 
*  Is 't  y'ur  honor's  worship  that  '11  gi'  me  a  prosecution,  right 
spaadily,  to  arrist  my  own  'orse,  onyhow?' —  'What  ails  your 
horse,  Phelim?'  said  I.  —  'The  raal  'orse  ail  is  it,  I  'm  thinking, 
y'ur  honor,'  said  he.  —  'Well,  Phelim,'  said  I,  '  I  'm  not  a  horse- 
doctor  ;  what  can  I  do  for  your  beast?'  — '  A  baste  indeed  he  was, 
that  same  that  staal'd  him,  last  October  come  agin,  a  yaar  it  was- 
nor  moor.'  —  'Ay,  now  I  understand  you,'  said  I;  'you  wish  to 
arrest  the  man,  and  not  the  beast.'  — '  Sowl  o'  me,  it 's  not  the  like 
o'  that,  naather,'  answered  Phelim ;  '  I  cares  not  a  farden  aboot  the 
mon,  if  I  can  arrist  the  baste.'  — '  Well,  Phelim,'  said  I,  '  begin  at 
the  beginning,  and  tell  me  your  story.'  —  'That  wud  be  swaater 
nor  a  buttered  pratie,  ony  dee,'  cried  Phelim ;  '  but  jist  now  Ise 
faaring  my  'orse  wud  be  trutting  aff.  It  's  jist  this,  your  honor : 
Paddy  O'Nearrin  afF  wid  my  'orse,  and  he  soult  him ;  and  this  it  is 
I  wants  your  honor  to  prove,  for  there  's  not  a  spick  o'  tistimony,  at 
all,  at  all ;  only  Paddy  was  long  in  that  a  way  afore  he  lift  county 
Cark,  and  he  was  a  tin  hour  mon ;  so  it  kim  aisy  and  convanieri!:, 
ye  see,  to  stale  the  'orse.  —  Now,  Ise  jist  sand  the  'orse  at  the 
tavern  door,  and  I  wants  to  know  if  I  may  tak  him  away  fro'  the 
prisent  owner,  that  is,  fro'  the  mon  what  does  n't  o\*  n  a  hair  o' 
him.'  —  I  was  not  a  little  perplexed  I./  this  unexpected  draft  U|  on 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  243 

my  professional  bank,  continued  the  general ;  however,  I  looked  as 
gr2.vely  as  possible,  and,  taking  down  Jacob's  law  dictionary, 
turned  over  the  leaves,  for  the  title,  horse.  This  gave  me  a  little 
time  for  reflection.  '  I  find  nothing  upon  the  subject,  Phclim,'  said 
I ;  '  had  he  a  saddle  on,  when  he  was  stolen  ]'  — '  Indaad,  he  had, 
your  honor,'  replied  Phelim,  'and  a  sniffle  bridle,  to  boot  ;„  and  it's 
jist  there,  it  is,  that  Paddy  wull  be  after  gitting  his  nick  fro'  the 
c.illar:  he's  confiss'd  'twas  his  own  self  that  staal'd  the  bridle, 
or  yhow,  but  he  '11  not  own  that  the  'orse  was  at  the  tither  end  o'  it.' 
—  I  looked  out  saddle,  and  then,  bridle,  and,  finally,  told  Phelim, 
that,  as  he  had  been  so  unfortunate,  I  should  not  charge  him  any 
fee  for  my  opinion,  but  that  it  was  a  new  case,  entirely.  'And 
pray,  your  honor,'  said  Phelim,  '  wud  it  mak  any  differ,  if  I  shud 
till  ye  that  same  'orse  was  a  brown  mare?' — 'Not  in  the  least, 
Phelim,'  said  I.  —  I  have  never  had  a  strong  relish  for  the  profession, 
from  that  time,"  said  Broughton,  with  a  good-natured  laugh. 

It  soon  became  a  common  custom  with  this  unhappy  young  gen 
tleman,  upon  all  such  convivial  occasions,  which  were  neither  "  few 
nor  far  between,"  to  talk  on,  and  drink  on,  long  after  the  wine- 
drinker's  jest  became  stale  and  unmeaning,  to  the  water-drinker's 
ear.  Upon  such  occasions,  he  was  escorted  home,  by  one  or  more 
trusty  companions  of  the  bottle,  and  the  midnight  revel  frequently 
terminated  in  some  flagrant  violation  of  those  laws  of  nature,  which 
have  provided  the  shades  of  night  for  the  repose  of  man.  Upon  the 
following  day,  some  kind  pacificator  satisfied  the  watchman,  for  a 
broken  head,  with  a  liberal  douceur,  and  the  city  lamps  were  speedily 
repaired,  at  private  charge.  Broughton  was  a  very  "gentlemanly 
fellow ;"  —  a  high  blade,  to  be  sure  ; — but  all  these  excesses  were 
committed,  under  the  stimulus  of  a  gentlemanly  beverage ! 

When,  after  these  debauches,  he  arrived  at  his  father's  dwelling, 
the  back  door  was  softly  opened  by  the  faithful  Ashur,  unless  he 
happened  himself  to  be  too  entirely  drunk  for  the  office  ;  in  which 
ease,  it  was  performed,  by  "  good,  honest,  mistress  Gale,"  who  was 
not  less  ready  to  conceal  the  vices  of  the  man,  than  the  follies  of 
the  boy. 

These  revels  were  becoming  so  frequent  as  to  attract  the  atten 
tion,  and  excite  the  serious  apprehension  of  the  elder  Mr.  Brough- 
ton's  connections  and  family  friends.  But  his  common  reply,  to 
their  suggestions  and  warnings,  indicated  a  remarkable  degree  of 
itfiioranco,  in  relation  to  the  force  of  that  perilous  habit  of  drinking, 
which  frequently  terminates  in  abiding  drunkenness,  on  the  most 
vulgar  inubriants,  though  it  may  have  commenced  upon  the  most 
costly  ai  d  classical  beverage.  —  "  Ah,  my  dear  sir,"  he  would  often 


244  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

reply,  "  Frederick  is  a  gay  young  man,  but  he  drinks  nothing  but 
wine.  He  can  be  in  no  possible  danger.  If  it  were  brandy,  or  any 
species  of  distilled  spirit,  I  should  have  cause  to  fear.  Alcohol,  in 
any  form,  is  a  great  curse,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  good  old  wine  never 
hurt  a  fly."  Such  was  the  ordinary  reply  of  this  misguided  parent, 
grounded,  as  every  judicious  reader  will  readily  perceive,  in  that 
popular  delusion,  which  his  long  and  extensively  prevailed,  that 
alcohol  exists  in  distilled  spirit  alone,  and  not  in  all  intoxicating 
liquors. 

About  this  period,  Mr.  Broughton  found  himself  compelled,  by  a 
regard  for  his  personal  safety,  and  that  of  his  family,  to  dismiss  his 
old  coachman,  Ashur  Jennison.  He  was  now  almost  continually 
tipsy,  and  had  lately  upset  the  carriage,  and  put  the  life  of  Mrs. 
Broughton  in  imminent  danger.  Ashur  was  called  up  into  the 
parlor,  to  receive  his  wages.  "  I  can  keep  you  no  longer,"  said 
Mr.  Broughton.  —  Ashur  hung  his  head.  "You  have  served  me 
fifteen  years,  and  I  have  borne  with  the  evil  consequences  of  this 
beastly  habit  long  enough."  —  The.  poor  fellow  bit  his  lip. — 
"You've  been  a  kind  master  to  me,  sir,"  said  he;  "I  know  I 
deserve  to  be  sent  off."  —  "  Ashur,"  said  Mr.  Broughton,  after  a 
pause,  "  do  you  think  it  possible  for  you  to  give  up  brandy  and  rum, 
entirely  ?"  —  "I  wish  to  speak  the  truth,  sir,"  said  the  poor  fellow, 
"  and  I  don't  really  think  I  shall  ever  be  able  to."  —  "  Well,  then, 
Ashur,  there  are  your  wages  ;  we  must  part,"  said  Mr.  Broughton : 
"  I  advise  you,  however,  to  make  an  effort,  and  sign  the  pledge  of 
the  temperance  society."  —  "  Thank  you,  sir,  for  your  kind  wishes 
arid  good  advice,"  replied  Ashur,  "but  I'm  past  all  that,  your 
honor  ;  I  don't  believe  I  could  hold  out  a  week.  But  if  you  '11  give 
me  leave  to  speak  my  mind,  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing,  if 
young  mister  Frederick  could  be  prevailed  on  to  join  the  temperance 
society."  —  "Jennison,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton,  "  what  do  you  mean 
by  such  insolence?" —  "  I  didn't  mean  nothing  improper,  ma'am," 
said  Ashur,  with  evident  surprise;  "I've  known  the  ginral  so 
many  years,  that  it  came  more  natural  to  call  him  mister  Frederick." 
—  "I  care  nothing  about  that,  Jennison,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Broughton, 
"  but  it  is  highly  insolent  for  you  to  speak  of  the  general's  joining 
such  a  thing  as  the  temperance  society,  when  he  drinks  nothing  but 
wine.  The  society  is  well  enough  for  the  vulgar,  and  those  who 
ate  in  the  habit  of  drinking  brandy  and  rum,  but  I  should  think  you 
had  lost  your  senses  as  well  as  your  manners,  to  propose  such  a 
thing  for  your  young  master."  —  "I  meant  no  harm,"  said  the  pool 
fellow,  "  and  if  I  had  n't  a  regard  for  the  ginral,  I  should  u't  have 
•aid  what  I  did.  —  May  I  tell  a  short  story,  sir?"  said  he,  turning 


WELL   ENOCGH  FOK  THE  VULGAR.  245 

to  Mi.  Broughton.  —  Mr.  Broughton  assented.  —  "  Well,  sir,"  said 
Asliur,  "  my  father  bound  me  out  to  a  wine-merchant,  when  I  was 
twelve  years  old.  He  sold  brandy  and  gin,  also.  I  disliked  them 
both,  but  1  soon  got  a  strong  relish  for  wine,  and,  at  the  end  of  six 
months,  I  was  turned  off,  for  being  often  tipsy.  I  next  drove  a 
brewer's  dray,  and  lost  my  place,  for  getting  drunk  with  beer.  The 
relish  for  brandy  and  gin  soon  came  along,  and  now  I  have  lost  my 
place T  for  being  drunk  with  rum.  I  dare  not  promise  to  leave  it  off. 
I  promised  my  father  to  leave  off  drinking  wine,  and  I  broke  my 
word.  I  promised  my  mother  that  I  would  give  up  beer  and  porter, 
but  I  couldn't  keep  my  promise.  I  was  once  near  being  married, 
and  I  promised  the  young  woman  that  I  would  never  drink  any  strong 
drink.  I  kept  my  word  for  several  months,  and  she  got  all  things 
in  readiness  for  our  wedding.  But  I  could  not  hold  out.  I  took 
three  or  four  drams  in  one  evening,  and  got  quite  tipsy.  She  found 
it  out.  When  I  went  to  see  her,  the  next  day,  — '  Ashur,'  said 
she,  '  I  love  you,  dearly,  but  I  will  never  be  your  wife  ;  if  you  can 
not  keep  your  promise  before  marriage,  I  am  sure  you  will  not 
after.'  —  So,  your  honor  sees,  how  one  liquor  follows  another.  I 
meant  no  offence,  though,  in  saying  that  I  hoped  mister  Frederick 
would  join  a  temperance  society." 

The  next  week,  Ashur  Jennison  delivered  up  the  insignia  of  his 
office,  the  curry-comb  and  brush,  to  his  successor  ;  and,  taking  an 
affectionate  leave  of  his  horses,  went  forth  once  again  to  seek  his 
fortunes  in  the  world.  After  having  gone  a  few  rods  from  the 
stable,  he  returned,  to  inform  Roger,  the  new  coachman,  that  he 
must  remember  to  wash  old  Sorrel's  legs,  daily,  with  New  England. 

"It  is  very  surprising,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton,  as  she  and  her 
husband  were  sitting  at  the  tea-table,  on  the  evening  after  Ashur 'a 
dismissal,  "  that  he  should  have  presumed  to  speak  of  Frederick's 
ioining  a  temperance  society."  —  "I  don't  think  he  meant  any 
offence,"  said  her  husband,  after  a  short  pause.  —  "  Only  think  of 
it,  my  dear,"  rejoined  the  lady,  "  how  entirely  all  the  boundaries 
would  be  taken  away,  between  the  common  people  and  ourselves, 
if  we  should  become  members  of  those  societies,  which  are  designed 
expressly  for  the  vulgar!"  —  Mr.  Broughton  sat  silently,  twirling 
his  thumbs,  and  with  an  unusual  solemnity  of  manner.  The  simple 
truth  of  poor  Ashur's  narrative,  had  perhaps  affected  him  more 
deeply  than  he  himself  imagined.  Mrs.  Broughton  fixed  her  gaze 
intently  upon  her  husband,  for  she  was  unaccustomed  to  see  him 
wear  an  expression  of  so  much  sadness  and  anxiety.  —  "  What  is 
the  matter,  my  <3earT1  said  Mrs.  Broughton.  —  He  raised  his  eyes, 
suffused  with  tears,  and,  with  a  trembling  lip,  exclaimed,  as  he  rose 

VOL.  I.  21* 


246  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

from  his  chair,  and  placed  his  hand  upon  his  forehead,  "  Mercifn.* 
God !  what  would  become  of  me,  if  Frederick  should  ever  bo  a 
drunkard  !"  — "  Why,  Mr.  Broughton,  what  can  you  mean !"  ex 
claimed  his  astonished  partner ;  "  Frederick  drinks  nothing  but 
wine,  which,  as  you  have  always  said,  never  hurt  a  fly  And  I 
have  heard  our  family  physician,  Dr.  Farrago,  say  the  sa.ne  thing. 
He  says,  it  helps  digestion,  and  is  exceedingly  nutritious."  — "  Ah, 
my  dear,  as  our  good  pastor,  Dr.  Smith,  has  often  said,  there  is  an 
alphabet  in  intemperance,  and  he,  who  learns  the  first  letter,  will  be 
very  apt  to  learn  enough  of  those  that  follow,  to  spell  out  destruc 
tion,  before  he  dies."  —  "  Why,  you  really  make  me  nervous,  Mr. 
Broughton,"  said  his  lady,  "  and  I  am  afraid  you  are  quite  so,  your 
self,  already.  Our  Frederick  a  drunkard  !"  — "  God  forbid," 
replied  her  husband,  "  but  I  will  honestly  confess,  there  is,  in  poor 
Ashur's  story,  a  perfect,  practical  illustration  of  the  opinions,  which 
I  have  heard  good  Dr.  Smith  express,  on  more  occasions  than  one. 
Besides,  my  dear,  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  we  have  waited  long, 
very  long,  for  Frederick  to  relinquish  these  excesses,  .which  are 
pardonable,  according  to  our  way  of  thinking,  in  young  men,  until 
a  certain  period.  He  seldom  dines  at  home  ;  in  the  evening  he  is 
constantly  out ;  he  commonly  returns,  after  we  have  retired,  and 
not  always,  as  I  fear,  in  a  perfectly  sober  condition.  — I  shall  sit  up 

for  him,  to-night,  myself." 

Having  no  engagement  for  the  evening,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Broughton 
sought  a  refuge  from  themselves,  and  their  anxious  thoughts,  in  a 
game  of  piquet.  The  deep,  unconscious  sigh,  which  frequently 
escaped,  plainly  indicated,  that  the  fears  and  forebodings  of  an 
anxious  father  had,  at  length,  been  thoroughly  awakened.  "  Let 
us  put  away  the  cards,  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton,  after  a 
spiritless  hour,  "for  we  cannot  possibly  enjoy  them."  —  These 
senseless  toys,  these  miserable  murderers  of  time,  were  accordingly 
laid  aside.  —  Mr.  Broughton  rose  from  his  chair,  and  began  to  walk 
across  the  apartment,  in  silence.  His  lady  drew  some  fancy  work 
from  her  table,  and  endeavored  to  occupy  herself  with  her  needle. 
< —  The  parlor  clock  struck  eleven.  —  "  Where  can  he  be  to-night, 
my  dear?"  said  Mr.  Broughton.  —  "Indeed,"  she  replied,  "you 
mak:3  yourself  needlessly  unhappy,  my  dear.  I  almost  wish  good 
Dr.  Smith  was  here,  to  converse  with  you.  I  think  you  would  feel 
oetter,  after  half  an  hour's  conversation  with  him.  You  have  always 
said,  that  you  never  knew  any  person,  from  whom  you  could  derive 
such  comfort,  in  your  perplexities,  as  from  our  worthy  pastor."  — 
"  I  am  afraid,"  replied  her  husband,  "  that  the  present  occasion 
would  prove  an  excepted  case.  In  truth.  I  have  never  told  you.  how 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  247 

r—:n  and  how  earnestly  the  good  old  man  has  warned  me,  that,  I 
Vud  mieh  to  fear  upon  Frederick's  account.  He  has  often  urged 
*>e  to  join  the  temperance  society,  for  the  sake  of  the  example 
•rf°fore  my  son."  —  Mrs.  Broughton  put  up  her  needle-work. — 
*  Ccme,  cheer  up,  my  dear,"  said  she  ;  "  I  wish  Dr.  Farrago  was 
ATC  ;  he  would  laugh  you  out  of  these  humors.  I  do  not  doubt, 
that  ,1  cheerful  glass,  and  a  little  pleasant  chat,  such  as  you  will  find 
*t  Major  Ferguson's,  where  we  dine,  to-morrow,  you  know,  will 

lissipate  these  blue ,  these  unpleasant  feelings,  altogether."  — 

i»lr.  Broughton  made  no  reply.  —  The  clock  struck  twelve.  —  He 
opened  the  window-shutter,  and  looked  out  upon  the  night.  It  was 
./oad,  bright  moonlight.  —  As  he  was  retiring  from  the  window,  he 
the  outer  gate,  as  it  closed ;  and,  looking  forth,  perceived 
persons  advancing  up  the  yard.  He  almost  immediately 
(recognized  the  person  of  his  son,  supported  by  two  of  his  associates, 
/or  he  was  evidently  unable  to  walk.  "  Gracious  heaven  !"  he 
exclaimed,  as  he  clasped  his  hands  together. — Mrs.  Broughton 
rushed  to  the  window,  and  gazed  upon  the  scene  before  her.  She 
beheld  her  only  child,  helplessly  drunk,  —  him  whom  she  had  her 
self  initiated  in  the  mystery  of  taking  his  glass  of  pure  old  wine, 
like  a  gentleman  !  His  companions  appeared  anxious  to  urge  him 
towards  the  door  ;  but  he  seemed  resolved  to  linger,  and,  stretching 
forth  his  hand  in  an  awkward  and  imbecile  manner,  he  stood  for  a 
few  moments,  pouring  forth  a  torrent  of  unmeaning  oaths,  with  the 
broken  voice  and  vacant,  stare  of  a  drunkard.  At  length  they  suc 
ceeded  in  reaching  the  back  door.  But  the  sympathizing  Ashur 
was  no  longer  there.  The  new  coachman,  Roger  Jones,  who  had 
been  left  to  sit  up  for  the  general,  by  "  good,  honest  mistress  Gale," 
received  him  at  the  door.  Roger  had  not  been  sufficiently  instructed 
in  this  delicate  department  of  his  office.  Instead  therefore  of  smug 
gling  and  coaxing  the  young  gentleman  to  his  private  chamber,  as 
secretly  and  speedily  as  possible,  he  sustained  him  as  far  as 'the 
parlor  door,  and  there  left  him  to  his  own  self-government.  —  The 
door  having  been  opened  by  Roger,  this  unhappy  young  man  stag 
gered  forward,  and  fell  headlong  on  the  parlor  floor,  almost  at  his 
father's  feet.  He  uttered  a  deep  groan,  but  was  obviously  unable 
to  rise.  The  noise  and  confusion  soon  brought  mistress  Gale  from 
her  quarters.  —  "  Dear  me,  ma'am,"  said  this  unsuspecting  paragon 
of  all  virtuous  and  trustworthy  house-keepers,  as  she  rushed  into 
the  apartment,  "  what  can  be  the  matter  with  dear  mister  Frederick7 
no  doubt  1  e  lias  eaten  something  that  has  thrown  him  into  fits."  — 
;'  Merciful  heaven  !''  cried  Mr.  Broughton,  "  what  is  this?"  taking 
from  the  cacpet  a  Spanish  knife,  covered  with  blood.  —  "  His  hand 


243  WELL    ENOUGH  FOR  THE    VULGAR. 

and  the  bosom  of  his  shirt,  are  covered  with  blood,  sir,  '  said  Rogra, 
who  had  also  entered  the  parlor,  with  one  or  two  slaves  of  the 
household.  "  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us,"  cried  mistress  Gale,  at 
the  top  of  her  lungs,  "  he  is  murdered  !  my  young  master  is  mur 
dered  !"  —  A  sharp  shriek,  followed  by  the  sound  of  a  falling  body 
upon  the  floor,  drew  all  eyes,  for  a  moment,  to  the  agonized  mother, 
who  lay  struggling  in  convulsions.  The  outcry,  which  immediately 
filled  the  apartment,  revived,  however  feebly  a,nd  vaguely,  General 
Broughton's  recollections  of  the  bacchanalian  scene,  in  which  he  had 
recently  borne  a  distinguished  part.  He  still  imagined  himself  there. 
The  momentary  belief  that  he  was  dead,  soon  gave  way  to  a  per 
manent  and  comparatively  comfortable  conviction  that  he  was 
thoroughly  drunk,  when,  with  a  vain  effort  to  rise,  he  exclaimed  in, 
a  voi ..je  scarcely  articulate,  and  with  a  terrible  oath,  which  it  is  quite 
unnecessary  to  repeat,  "Waiter,  let's  have  a  dozen  more  of  the 
same  brand !" 

While  Mrs.  Gale  was  occupied,  with  the  aid  of  other  female 
domestics,  in  the  restoration  of  their  lady,  the  unhappy  father, 
assisted  by  Roger,  had  conveyed  the  young  man  to  his  apartment, 
and  placed  him  in  bed.  Though  his  right  hand,  and  the  wristband 
and  bosom  of  his  shirt,  as  well  as  the  blade  of  his  Spanish  knife 
were  covered  with  blood,  not  the  slightest  wound  could  be  discov 
ered  on  his  person.  It  may  not  be  improper,  incidentally  to  state  the 
fact,  that,  however  unusual  at  the  North,  nothing  is  more  common 
in  several  of  the  Western  and.  Southern  States,  than  this  barbarous 
personal  appendage,  the  dirk,  or  Spanish  knife.  There  are  not  a 
few,  who  would  deem  the  duties  of  the  toilette  insufficiently  per 
formed,  until  their  dirks  and  Spanish  knives  were  securely  depos 
ited  at  their  backs,  or  in  their  bosoms.  We  have  seen  grave 
judges,  and  barristers,  and  physicians,  and  members  of  the  national 
legislature,  exhibiting  these  implements  on  their  persons,  without  the 
slightest  apparent  disposition  to  conceal  them. 

It  was  evident  to  Mr.  Broughton,  that  his  son  had  been  engaged 
in  some  personal  encounter;  perhaps,  thought  he,  —  and  the  cold 
drops  started  upon  his  brow,  —  in  some  deed  of  murder !  It  would 
have  been  absurd  to  seek  any  explanation  from  this  wretched  young 
man.  No  human  power  could,  at  that  time,  have  roused  him  from 
his  drunken  stupor. 

There  was  no  member  of  this  household,  saving  these  agonized 
parents  themselves,  who  suffered,  upon  the  .^present  occasion,  more 
acutely  than  poor  Tom,  the  negro  boy,  whom  the  reader  will  readily 
remember  as  master  Frederick's  domestic  associate,  in  his  juvenile 
revels.  No  sooner  had  he  heard  the  cry  of  mistress  Gate,  that  her 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  249 

young  maetdr  was  murdered,  than  he  rushed  forth,  with  the  speed 
of  the  wind,  for  Dr.  Farrago.  The  strong  affection  of  this  poor  slave 
may  be  easily  explained.  Tom  was  the  young  general's  foster  broth 
er.  The  same  negress  nursed  them  both ;  and  it  is  quite  common,  at 
the  South  and  West,  to  encourage  this  feeling  of  attachment,  which 
such  a  peculiar  relation  at  the  breast  may  be  expected  to  originate. 
The  doctor  dressed  himself  with  all  possible  expedition,  and  was 
soon  at  the  patient's  door.  There  he  was  met  by  Mrs.  Broughton, 
who  had  sufficiently  recovered  to  give  her  personal  attendance  upon 
her  son.  —  "  Dear  Dr.  Farrago,"  said  she,  "  how  good  you  are,  to 
come  so  quickly  !"  —  "Always  a  pleasure,  always  a  pleasure,  I 
assure  you;  but  what's  the  matter,  my  dear  madam?" — "Oh, 
dear  doctor,  I  don't  know  ;  pray  walk  up  stairs."  — The  doctor  was 
ushered  into  the  apartment ;  and,  with  all  that  adroitness,  which  is 
a  certain  characteristic  of  a  skilful  practitioner,  he  immediately  mod 
ulated  the  expression  of  his  countenance  by  that  of  the  principal  fig 
ure  in  the  group.  "  Dear  sir,"  said  he,  to  Mr.  Broughton,  with  a 
most  impressive  gravity  of  features,  "  what  is  the  matter  with  our 
young  friend  ;  has  he  applied  himself  too  steadily  to  his  profession  ?" 
—  Mr.  Broughton  shook  his  head  ;  and  the  doctor  proceeded  to  feel 
the  young  gentleman's  pulse.  —  "Bless  me!  what  is  this?  — 
blood  !"  —  Mr.  Broughton  then  gave  the  doctor  a  detailed  account 
of  the  occurrences  of  the  evening,  so  far  as  he  could  explain  them. 
The  doctor  looked  as  much  wiser  than  Hippocrates,  as  possible,  and 
after  a  solemn  pause,  —  "  This,"  said  he,  "  is  the  result  of  a  little 
frolic,  —  a  high  go,  —  yes,  madam,  a  high  go,  —  a  spree,  as  they 
sometimes  call  it ;  but  evidently,  as  I  perceive  by  the  breath,  upon 
wine,  and,  therefore,  perfectly  harmless."  —  "  Oh,  dear  doctor  Far 
rago,"  cried  Mrs.  Broughton,  seizing  his. hand,  "  how  greatly  you 
relieve  me.  There  's  poor  Mr.  Broughton  would  have  joined  a 
temperance  society,  before  morning,  and  I  'm  sure  we  never  could 
have  shown  ourselves  in  genteel  company,  after  that."  —  "  Pshaw, 
pshaw,  my  dear  madam,"  cried  the  doctor,  "  temperance  societies 

are  well  enough  for  the  vulgar,  and  for "  —  "  There,  Mr. 

Broughton,"  said  his  lady,  interrupting  the  doctor,  "just  as  I  told 
you."  — "  Yes,  madam,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  well  enough  for 
the  vulgar,  and  your  rum,  and  gin,  and  brandy  topers,  your  folks  that 
drink  alcohol,  in  any  form ;  but  wine  is  a  very  different  affair."  — 
"  Pray,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Broughton,  "will  it  not  be  well  to  pre 
scribe  some  medicine  for  Frederick  ]"  —  "  Not  at  all,  my  dear  sir, 
let  him  sleep  it  off.  He  has  an  excellent  constitution  ;  it  can  do 
him  no  possible  harm.  Wine,  sir,  is  an  innocent  beverage ;  no 
j'cohol  there,  sir,  nU  a  particle  I  insist  OB  the  distinction  ;  noth- 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAB. 

ing  but  the  elements.  Alcohol  is  the  entire  product  of  distillation, 
and  not  the  educt.  It  is  not  a  poison,  sir  :  it  is  very  easy  of  diges 
tion,  and  subserves  the  purposes  of  alimentation  and  nutrition.  Aa 
to  the  elements,  that  may  be  present,  the  prophylactic  energies  of 
combination  neutralize  their  virus.  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness, 
whatever  ;  the  general  will  be  himself  again,  to-morrow  morning." 

—  "  But,  Doctor  Farrago,  what  can  have  occasioned  this  blood  ?" 
inquired  Mr.  Broughton,  with  evident  anxiety.     "  Easily  accounted 
for,  sir,"  rejoined  the  doctor,  briskly,  "  in  fifty  ways.     He  may  have 
had  a  bleeding  at  the  nose,  and,  when  a  little  corny,  he  may  rave 
wiped  it  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and  gotten  the  blood  upoi.  nis 
wristband  ;   a  portion  may  have  dropped  upon  his  shirt-bosom,  &c. 
As  I  said  before,  give  yourself  no  uneasiness;  I  will  call,  sir,  after 
breakfast.      Good  night,  my  dear  sir;   good  night,  madam." 

The  doctor  had  departed.  —  Mr.  Broughton  sat  upon  the  bed-side, 
looking  intently  upon  the  bloated  and  distorted  features  of  his  son. 

—  "  How  very  comforting  it  is  to  have  such  a  visit,  at  such  a  time, 
from  dear  Dr.  Farrago,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton.  —  Her  husband  made 
no  reply.  —  "  Mr.  Broughton,"  she  continued,  "  you  seem  to  have 
lost  your  confidence  in  Dr.  Farrago,  and,  I  am  fearful,  from  his 
manner,  that  he  perceives  it.      He  is,  certainly,  a  very  learned  man, 
and  I  have  been  told  that  he  has  a  whole  trunk-full  of  diplomas. 
Did  you  not  notice  what  he  said  of  the  energies  of  confutation  ?"  — • 
"  My  dear,"  said  her  husband,  "  I  will  frankly  own  to  you,  that  I 
have  lost  a  part  of  my  confidence  in  the  doctor.      No  man  has 
Jone  so  much  to  impress  me  with  a  belief,  that  wine  is  harmless ; 
out  here  is  our  boy,  utterly  drunk  !      He  has  been  in  the  same  con 
dition,  before  ;  am  I  to  believe,  that  this  habit,  engendered  upon  the 
purest  wine,  can  be  long  continued,  without  sapping  his  constitu 
tion?      Has  it  not  already  diminished  his  respectability,  and  tended 
to  produce  habits  of  idleness  and  dissipation  1    Contemplate  the  last 
two  hours !   I  would  not  undergo,  for  worlds  of  wealth,  the  agony 
I  have  suffered   in  that  brief  space  of  time.      The  doctor  tells  us 
there  is  no  alcohol  in  wine.    Dr.  Smith  assures  me  there  is  ;  and  he 
was  once  an  eminent  physician  and  chemist,  before  he   devoted 
himself  to  the  ministry.      Have  I  not  been  strangely  and  fatally 
deceived  ?      Have  1  not  suffered  my  own  fondness  for  wine  to  lead 
me  into  error,  and  to  keep  me  there?      Have  I  not  listened  with 
partial  attention  to  all  the  suggestions  of  Dr.  Farrago,  and    >ther 
individuals,  in  favor  of  this  beverage,  because  I  was  eager  to  defend 
an  object  of  my  early  and  lasting  attachment?      Ah,  my  dear,  I  am 
satisfied,  that,  as  our  good  pastor  has  often  said,  wine  is  a  mocker,  a 
deceiver  "  —  At  this  moment,  the  street  door-bell  rang  violently 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  251 

and  interrupted  Mr.  Broughton's  remarks.  He  looked  at  his  watch. 
"  It  is  nearly  two  o'clock,"  said  he  ;  "  what  can  this  mean  !"  — 
The  bell  was  again  rung,  after  a  few  seconds,  with  redoubled  vio 
lence.  —  "  God  help  me  !"  said  Mr.  Broughton,  in  a  faltering  voice, 
as  he  rose  to  open  the  chamber  door;  "  bad  tidings  come  rapidly 
enough  ;  I  fear  this  is  some  messenger  of  evil."  The  door  was 
unlocked  by  the  negro,  Tom,  whose  voice  was  soon  heard  in  con 
versation  with  a  stranger.  This  faithful  fellow  had  collected  the 
impression,  from  the  remarks  of  one  and  another,  that  some  species 
of  mischief,  of  whose  nature  he  had  no  definite  conception,  awaited 
his  young  master.  —  "Is  General  Broughton  at  home?"  said  the 
stranger,  evidently  in  a  hasty  manner.  —  "  Massa  Broughton  go  out 
afore  dinner,  and  I  no  see  him  since,"  replied  the  wary  fellow.  His 
answer  was  literally  true,  and  his  code  of  morals  had  been  acquired, 
at  the  feet  of  "  good,  honest  mistress  Gale."  — "  Do  you  know 
where  I  can  find  him?"  inquired  the  stranger.  "I  guess  so," 
replied  Tom.  —  "  Let  me  know,  then,"  rejoined  he,  with  increas 
ing  earnestness.  "  You  know,  I  s'pose,  where'bout  de  Cath'lic 
church  stand,"  said  Tom.  —  "Very  well,"  replied  the  other, 
"  make  haste." —  "  Den,  I  s'pose  you  know,  up  treet,  tamal  great 
way,  turn  two  time  right  about,  dere  tall  big  house,  wid  green  blind, 
don  know,  zacly,  wedder  green,  or  nudder  color,  all  alone,  great 
many  house  dere,  all  round  him  :  den  you  go  east,  may  be,  west, 

don  know,  half  a  mile,  clear  ofT,  tudder  way, "     "  Peace,  you 

varlet,"  said  the  stranger,  throwing  his  cloak  from  before  his  face  : 
"  do  you  know  me,  now?"  — "  Goly,  gosh !  massa  Bentley,  how  you 
cheat  Tom,  no  tink  'twas  a  you."  —  Tom,  being  satisfied,  that  the 
inquirer  was  one  of  the  general's  aids,  and  most  intimate  friends, 
was  now  as  communicative,  as  he  had  been  reserved  and  wary 
before.  —  "  Gin'ral  come  home,  little  ober  de  bay,  ha,  ha,  ha,  dat 
all,  massa  Bentley  :  sound  sleep,  now.  'Cause,  got  little  blood  on 
his  hand,  missy  Gale  make  great  big  hullabaloo,  and  Doctor  Thor- 

oughgo    been  here,  and "     "  Hold   your  tongue,"    said   the 

major,  "  and  tell  the  old  gentleman,  his  father,  I  wish  to  see  him, 
as  soon  as  possible."  —  "Yes,  massa,"  replied  Tom.  —  Mr. 
Broughton  had  listened  to  this  conversation  from  the  upper  landing, 
and  now  descended  to  the  parlor. —  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  major," 
said  he,  as  soon  as  the  doors  were  closed,  "  relieve  me  from  this 
condition  of  anxiety,  which  is  driving  me  mad.  Explain  this  painful 
mystery,  I  beseech  you,  if  you  can."  —  "  Your  son,  my  dear  *ii-," 
said  the  major,  "  must  fly,  or  be  concealed."  —  "  Father  of  meixw  !" 
exclaimed  this  wretched  parent,  leaping  from  his  seat,  u  xvtial  do 
yiu  mean?" — "Be  composed,  I  beseech  you,  Mr.  Brou^oou," 


252  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR   ."HE   VULGAR. 

said  the  major,  rising  and  placing  his  hand  upon  the  arm  of  the  half 
distracted  man.  "  Summon  up  your  fortitude,  I  entreat  you. 
There  is  really  no  time  for  delay,  or  I  would  break  the  matter  more 
gently  and  gradually.  Your  son,  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  and 
probably  unconscious  of  his  conduct,  has  stabbed  young  Colling- 
wood,  his  cousin."  —  "  What  an  idiot  I  have  been!"  cried  Mr. 
Broughton,  striking  his  forehead  with  great  vehemence;  "is  he 
dead  ?"  —  "  No  sir,"  replied  the  major,  "  but  doctor  Floyer,  who 
was  immediately  called,  stated  expressly,  that  the  wound  was,  in  all 
probability,  mortal."  —  "  And  where  is  he,  where  is  George  Col- 
lirigwood,  now?"  inquired  Mr.  Broughton.  —  "The  affray  took 
place  not  far  from  his  mother's  house,"  replied  the  major,  "and 
they  carried  the  unfortunate  young  man  immediately  there."  — 
"  My  poor  widowed  sister  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Broughton,  in  a  par 
oxysm  of  grief  and  anguish,  "  the  only  remaining  stay  of  her  old 
age,  cut  down  by  a  child  of  mine !  Oh,  my  God,  my  God,  why  do 
I  live !  can  it  be  required  of  me  to  remain  longer  in  this  miserable 
world!"  —  "I  entreat  you,  sir,"  said  Major  Bentley,  with  much 
emphasis,  "  to  compose  yovr  feelings.  Will  you  not,  before  it  is 
too  late,  proceed  to  adopt  such  measures  as  may  secure  your  son 
from  the  pursuit  of  the  officers  ot  justice?"  —  "  Never,"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Broughton,  stamping  his  foot  with  great  violence  upon  the 
floor  ;  "  I  will  not  shield  even  my  own  son  from  the  arm  of  the  law, 
since  he  has  made  a  devoted  sister,  the  dear  companion  of  my  early 
days,  childless  in  her  old  age."  The  decided  tone,  in  which  these 
words  were  delivered,  so  entirely  at  variance  with  the  general  char 
acter  of  Mr.  Broughton,  satisfied  his  visitor,  that  all  further  inter 
ference  would  be  vain. 

Mr.  Broughton  continued  to  traverse  the  apartment,  with  great 
agitation  of  manner,  occasionally  stopping  for  an  instant  and  placing 
his  hand  upon  his  forehead.  —  "  Ah,  Major  Bentley,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  how  much  of  all  my  present  misery  is  attributable  to  the  influence 
of  that  dissipated  society,  with  which  this  unhappy  young  man  has 
been  connected.  These  military  associations  have  brought  him  to 
his  ruin.  Why  could  you  not  have  interposed,  and  stayed  rry  mis 
guided  son  in  his  mad  career?"  —  "  Mr.  Broughton  "  replied  this 
amiable  young  man,  for  such  in  reality  he  was,  "  J  perceive  that 
you  have  not  a  correct  impression  of  the  painful  relation,  in  which, 
for  some  time  past,  I  have  been  placed  towards  your  son.  You 
will  do  rne  great  injustice,  if  you  suppose  that  a  participation  in  these 
unhappy  scenes  has  been  a  necessary  consequence  of  our  military 
conn^tion.  A  common  friend  roused  me  from  my  bed  to  communi 
cate  <"'is  distressing  event.  I  have  urged  your  son,  by  every  con- 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  253 

sideration,  to  abandon  his  perilous  career.  I  have  a  sister,  my  dear 
sir,  whom  you  well  know  ;  —  whether  you  also  know,  that  your  son 
has  repeatedly  offered  her  his  hand  in  marriage,  I  am  ignorant,  of 
course.  Had  she  been  left  to  the  influence  of  her  own  affectionate 
heart,  she  would,  probably,  be  now  the  chief  sufferer  among  those, 
who  deplore  over  this  terrible  catastrophe.  As  it  is,  she  will  sym 
pathize  most  truly,  with  those  who  may  be  called  to  suffer,  I  con 
fess  to  you,  that,  however  an  alliance  with  your  family  vvcnld  have 
been  a  source  of  happiness  to  us  all,  under  other  circumstances,  1 
have  been,  myself,  the  chief  instrument  in  opposing  the  wishes  of 
your  son.  And  it  is  a  mere  act  of  justice,  to  declare  that  his  highly 
honorable  feelings  have  induced  him  to  treat  me  with  undiminished 
regard,  notwithstanding  I  have  frankly  avowed  to  him  the  agency  I 
have  had  in  the  disappointment  of  his  hopes.  My  own  example  of 
entire  abstinence,  enjoined  upon  me  in  early  life,  by  a  kind  father, 
has  been  added  to  my  earnest  solicitation,  when  conversing  with 
your  son,  as  I  frequently  have  done."  —  "Father  of  mercy!" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Broughton,  as  he  clasped  his  hands,  and  burst  into 
tears,  "  how  devoutly  I  now  wish  my  poor  Frederick  had  been 

blessed  with  the  precept  and  example  of  such  a  father." 

At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Broughton  entered  the  parlor ;  she  had 
been  informed,  that  the  gentleman  below  was  Major  Bentley,  and, 
very  naturally  concluded,  that  his  visit,  at  this  unusual  hour,  had 
some  immediate  relation  to  the  present  condition  of  her  son.  It 
was  not  easy  for  Major  Bentley  to  conceal  from  her  the  real  occasion 
of  his  visit.  The  painful  recital  of  the  facts,  which  it  was  impos 
sible  to  avoid,  produced  a  repetition  of  that  distressing  scene,  which 
had  occurred  an  hour  or  two  before,  at  the  period  of  the  young 
gentleman's  return.  Mrs.  Broughton  fell  again  into  hysterics,  and 
was  conveyed  to  her  chamber.  The  treatment  of  this  malady  had, 
from  long  experience  with  her  mistress,  become  perfectly  familiar  to 
Mrs.  Gale.  Upon  the  present,  as  upon  many  similar  occasions,  she 
recovered  in  a  short  time,  and  sunk  into  a  deep  slumber. 

It  was  half-past  eight  o'clock,  before  she  awoke ;  and  f=he  was 
delighted  to  learn  from  Mrs.  Gale,  that  Frederick  was  still  under 
the  influence  of  profound  sleep,  and  that  her  bosom  friend  and  trusty 
counsellor,  old  madam  Frattle,  had  been  waiting  impatiently  to  see 
her,  for  more  than  an  hour.  This  incomparable  old  lady  had 
acquired  the  earliest  intelligence  of  the  catastrophe.  —  "  You  should 
have  waked  me  sooner,  Gale ;  show  madam  Frattle  into  my  cham 
ber,  immediately.  But  where  is  Mr.  Broughton ?"  —  "  He  went 
over  to  his  sister's,  Mrs.  Collingwood's,  madam,"  replied  Mrs.  Gale, 
'  with  Major  Bentley,  about  half -past  three  o'clock,  this  morning . 
"OL.  i.  22 


254  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

and  has  rot  since  returned."  —  "I  hope,"  rejoined  her  mistress, 
"  that  young  Collingwood's  wound  will  not  prove  mortal,  though  I 
am  sure  he  was  in  the  wrong  to  put  Frederick  in  a  passion,  as  I 
have  no  doubt  he  did.  But  I  hope  he  will  not  die ;  it  would  be 
such  a  disagreeable  thing  to  his  mother ;  —  help  me  to  dress,  Gale, 
but  first  show  up  Mrs.  Frattle."  —  The  visitor. was  soon  shown  into 
the  apartment.  —  "  Bless  you,  dear  Mrs.  Frattle,  how  good  it  is  in 
you  to  take  this  trouble,  at  such  an  early  hour,  too."  —  "  How 
could  I  be  absent  from  you  at  such  a  time,  my  dear?"  replied 
madam  Frattle ;  —  " How  is  our  dear  Frederick?"  —  "  He  is  doing 
very  well,  Dr.  Farrago  says.  We  were  a  little  alarmed,  when 
Frederick  first  came  home,  on  account  of  some  blood  upon  his  hand 
and  bosom,  so  we  sent  for  the  doctor  ;  but  he  made  very  light  of  it, 
and  told  us  not  to  be  alarmed.  He  said  it  was  nothing  but  a  frolic, 
and  that  Frederick  had  been  drinking  a  little  wine,  which  could  not 
possibly  hurt  htm.  Dear  Mrs.  Frattle,  what  a  learned  man  Dr. 
Farrago  is ;  I  wish  you  could  have  heard  what  he  said  about  the 
popylactic  energies  of  confutation."  —  "  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Brough- 
ton,  if  poor  Collingwood's  wound  should  prove  mortal,  it  would  be 
a  sad  affair."  —  "  Dear  me,  Mrs.  Frattle,  you  don't  think  Colling- 
wood  will  die,  —  Gale,  give  me  some  lavender  compound,  and  my 
cau  de  cologne.'' — "I  hope  not,"  replied  her  friend.  —  "Oh,  1 
cannot  think  it  is  much  more  than  a  flesh  wound,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Broughton. — "Why,  as  to  that,  my  dear,  Dr.  Floyer  says  the 
dirk  has  pierced  the  lungs,"  rejoined  this  blessed  comforter. — 
"  Why,  dear  Mrs.  Frattle,  you  frighten  me  out  of  my  wits,"  cried 
Mrs.  Broughton  ;  —  "Gale,  pour  more  cologne  upon  my  handker 
chief." —  "But  Dr.  Floyer  says,"  continued  Mrs.  Frattle,  "that 
there  have  been  repeated  instances,  in  which  persons,  wounded 
through  the  lungs,  have  entirely  recovered."  —  "And  so  you  think 
the  wound  is  not  mortal,"  inquired  Mrs.  Broughton,  anxiously.  — 
"  Why,  my  dear,  I  am  not  a  judge,  you  know,"  said  her  visitor; 
"Dr.  Floyer  has  expressed  his  fear  that  it  is." — "Mercy  upon 
me,  what  then  will  become  of  my  poor  dear  Frederick !"  cried  Mrs. 
Broughton.  —  "  Don't  take  on  so,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Frattle 
"Dr.  Floyer  is  as  apt  to  be  mistaken  as  any  other  physician. 
You  know  he  gave  his  opinion,  last  April,  that  old  Colonel  Guzzler 
would  not  live  a  year ;  and  it  is  now  the  middle  of  May,  and  the 
colonel  is  still  alive,  though  he  had  a  terrible  paroxysm  of  gout  in 
the  stomach,  last  Friday.  Physicians  ought  to  be  very  guarded  in 
pronouncing  these  opinions ;  for,  when  they  prove  erroneous,  they 
are  apt  to  produce  a  great  deal  of  confusion  Li  our  domestic  arrange 
ments,  you  know,  my  dear." 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  255 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  I  am  terribly  afraid,  that  Mr.  Broughton  will  be  prevailed  on  to 
join  the  temperance  society,  and  try  to  induce  Frederick  to  do  the 
same  thing.  What  a  sad  effect  it  would  have  upon  our  rank  in  life ! 
I  should  be  ashamed  to  show  my  head,  after  that.  My  husband  has 
long  thought  very  favorably  of  this  outlandish  society.  Good  eld 
parson  Smith,  who  is  a  kind  of  puzzlepot,  you  know,  has  more  than 
half  converted  Mr.  Broughton,  already,  and  I  am  afraid  this  unlucky 
affair  will  bring  him  completely  over.  Dr.  Smith  is  really  getting 
troublesome,  my  dear  Mrs.  Frattle.  He  is  continually  sponging  my 
good  husband  oat  of  his  money,  for  Bible  societies  and  missionary 
societies.  Only  think  of  it,  Mr.  Broughton  went  out  the  other  day 
to  purchase  me  some  splendid  porcelain  vases,  and  came  back  with 
out  having  bought  them :  and  told  me  he  really  could  not  afford  it, 
for  parson  Smith  had  met  him  on  the  way,  and  prevailed  on  him  to 
give  him  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  to  convert  some  wild  heathens 
in  Athens,  or  some  such  place,  in  the  East  Indies.  What  a  foolish 
waste  of  money !  But  all  this  I  can  bear  tolerably  well,  only  let  me 
be  spared  the  mortification  of  seeing  the  name  of  Broughton  among 
a  parcel  of  poor,  ignorant,  vulgar  people,  who  compose  the  temper 
ance  society.  I  believe  it  would  be  the  death  of  me,  indeed  I  do, 
Mrs.  Frattle.  I  have  no  doubt  the  thing  is  well  enough  for  the  vul 
gar,  and  I  was  pleased  to  hear  so  sensible  a  man  as  Dr.  Farrago 
say  the  very  same  thing,  in  Mr.  Broughton's  hearing.  Then,  my 
dear  friend,  what  a  humiliating  thing  it  is  to  pledge  one's  self.  It 
looks  as  though  we  had  such  a  poor  opinion  of  ourselves."  — 
"Ay,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Frattle,  "you  have  a  just  view  of 
the  matter.  They  tell  us  that  our  example  is  needed,  and  some  of 
these  fanatical  people  have  gone  so  far  as  to  say,  that  we  should 
give  up  our  wine,  to  induce  vulgar  folks  to  give  up  their  rum.  How 
very  ridiculous  !  My  views  are  just  these,  my  dear ;  'Is  it  not  impos 
sible  that  any  drunkard,  awakened  to  a  sense  of  his  whole  danger,  of 
the  poverty,  the  disease,  and  the  disgrace  he  was  bringing  upon  himself 
and  his  family,  could,  for  a  moment,  suspend  his  decision  upon  the 
question,  whether  another  man  would  give  up  drinking  wine  ?  The 
very  supposition  is  absurd  on  the  face  of  it.  Who,  that  has  a  sense 
of  virtue,  would  look  round  for  a  price  for  which  to  practise  it  ? 
What  has  my  virtue  to  gain  or  lose  from  all  else  in  the  whole  universe  ? 
By  what  tenure  can  I  hold  it,  but  by  the  still  small  voice  within  me, 
which  is  mere  than  the  echo  of  that,  which  speaks  from  Heaven  ?'  " — 
1 '  It  is  realy  a  treat  to  hear  you,  dear  madam  Frattle,"  said  Mrs. 
Broughton,  "  you  talk  so  precisely  like  a  book.  Your  idea  of  the 
echo  is  singularly  beautiful ;  and  your  argument  is  perfectly  unan- 


t>56  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

swerable  ;  for  everybody  knows  that  all  the  drunkards  in  the  land  arc 
awakened  now,  by  the  exertions  of  the  temperance  society.  These 
drunkards,  now  they  are  all  awakened  so  thoroughly,  would  spurn,  I 
should  think,  to  be  actuated  by  any  but  the  highest  and  holiest 
motives.  It  is  much  the  same  thing  as  it  is  with  children  :  if  we 
only  lay  down  good  precepts,  example  is  quite  unnecessary,  of 
course.  These  drunkards  should  rely  upon  their  moral  power ;  the 
still  small  voice  is  quite  enough  for  them ;  and,  if  it  is  not,  it  is  their 
own  fault,  to  be  sure."  —  "You  are  perfectly  right,  my  dear," 
said  her  visitor  ;  "  this  practice  of  signing  pledges  is  highly  censur 
able  ;  it  is  a  trap,  my  dear,  a  terrible  trap  for  the  conscience.  It 
destroys  one's  individuality ;  it  is  a  soecies  of  bondage.  Our  old 
friend,  Noodle,  the  distiller,  is  not  a  Solomon  you  know,  but  he, 
now  and  then,  says  a  clever  thing,  I  assure  you.  He  was  at  a 
temperance  meeting  not  long  ago,  and,  when  the  pledge  was  handed 
round,  he  went  about  very  quietly  among  the  congregation,  whis 
pering  to  the  people,  to  be  very  careful  how  they  signed  away  their 

liberties." 

The  door-bell  rang;  Mrs.  Gale  announced  the  arrival  of  Dr. 
Farrago ;  and  madam  Frattle  took  her  leave.  Mrs.  Broughton 
repaired  to  her  son's  chamber ;  she  there  found  her  husband,  who 
had  returned  a  few  moments  before  from  Mrs.  Collingwood's 
She  had  no  time  for  inquiries,  before  Dr.  Farrago  entered  the  apart 
ment. —  "Good  morning,  madam,  good  morning,  Mr.  Broughton  ; 
how  is  he,  to-day?"  proceeding  to  feel  the  young  gentleman's  pulse. 

—  "He  appears  not  to  know  me,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Broughton, 
with  evident  emotion,  "  and  I  find  him  apparently  in  a  high  fever." 

—  "Bless  me,"    cried  the  doctor,    "this  is  not  as  I  anticipated. 
We  must  attend   to  this,  without  delay.     Pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
madam,  if  you  please,  and  I  will  write  a  prescription  ;  or  I  can  do  it 
in  the  parlor."     The  doctor  followed  Mrs.  Broughton  to  the  parlor, 
\vhere  they  found  the  Rev.  Dr.  Smith.     They  were  soon  joined  by 
Mr.  Broughton.     The  good  parson  took  him  by  the  hand  with  an 
expression  of  the  greatest  benevolence,  but  without  uttering  a  word. 
Mr.  Broughton  turned  towards  the  window  to  conceal  his  agitation. 

—  "Pray,  doctor,  how  is  young  Mr.  Broughton,  this  morning?" 
inquired  the  clergyman. — "At  your  service,  in  one  moment,  sir," 
replied  the  doctor,  folding  up  his  prescnption  :  —  "  to  be  sent  for,  and 
administered   immediately,  madam,"   addressing  Mrs.  Broughton. 
"Why,  sir,"  continued  he,  turning  to  the  clergyman,  "the  young 
gentleman  has  taken  a  little  too  much  wine.    I  relied,  strongly,  when 
I  was  first  called,  upon  the  prophylactic  energies  of  combination; 
but  I  have  reason  to  fear  that  he  has  taken  into  his  stomach  some- 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  257 

Ihing  beside  the  pure  juice.  There  is  at  present  a  considerable 
excitement  of  the  sanguineous  function."  —  "You  think  he  has  a 
fever,  doctor?"  said  the  clergyman.  —  "I  say  not  so,"  replied  the 
doctor;  "there  are,  indubitably,  symptoms  of  pyrexia  present,  but 
you  are  aware,  sir,  as  you  were  once  a  member  of  our  profession, 
long  enough  at  least,  to  comprehend  its  perplexities,  you  are  aware, 
sir,  that  the  theories  have  been  very  various :  there  is  that  of  the 
Greek  schools,  founded  on  the  doctrine  of  a  concoction,  and  critical 
evacuation  of  morbific  matter  ;  then  there  is  that  of  Boerhaave,  sup 
ported  by  the  theory  of  a  peculiar  viscosity  or  lentor  of  the  blood  ; 
next  comes  that  of  Stahl,  Hoffman,  and  Cullen,  founded  on  the 
dodrine  of  a  spasm  on  the  extremities  of  the  solidum  vivum  ;  then 
we  have  that  of  Brown  and  Darwin,  supported  by  the  doctrine  of 
accumulated  and  exhausted  excitability,  or  sensorial  power  ;  in 

addition  to  these,  we  have  the  opinions  of "     "  Dr.  Farrago," 

said  the  clergyman,  "  I  did  not  intend  to  trespass  upon  your  valu 
able  time  ;  I  only  wish  to  inquire  if  the  patient  is  dangerously  ill." 
—  "  Pshaw!  my  dear  sir,"  replied  the  doctor,  taking  an  enormous 
pinch  of  snuff,  "  the  young  gentleman  has  been  engaged  in  a  frolic, 
taken  a  little  too  much  wine,  nothing  more.  He  '11  be  out  in  a  day 
or  two,  sir.  I  examined  his  breath,  with  great  care  ;  no  brandy,  no 
gin,  no  whiskey,  nothing  of  the  sort ;  wine,  sir,  nothing  but  wine. 
Wine  is  a  wholesome,  gentlemanly  beverage  ;  no  poison  in  wine, 
easily  digested,  and  subserves  the  great  purposes  of  alimentation  and 
nutrition.  No  evil  consequences  ar«  to  be  expected  from  wine." — 
"  Doctor  Farrago,"  said  the  clergyman,  "have  you  not  heard  of 
the  affray  which  took  place  last  night?"  —  "  Not  a  lisp  of  it,  sir,  I 
assure  you,"  replied  the  doctor.  —  "This  unhappy  young  man," 
continued  the  clergyman,  "  under  the  influence  of  wine,  stabbed  his 
cousin,  George  Collingwood,  through  the  lungs."  —  "  Shocking,  to' 
be  sure,"  cried  the  doctor,  "  bad  enough,  bad  enough,  never  heard  a 
word  of  it ;  not  a  mortal  wound,  I  hope."  —  "  Dr.  Floyer,"  replied 
the  clergyman,  "  upon  the  first  examination,  last  night,  believed  it 
to  be  mortal ;  but  Mr.  Broughton  and  myself  have  had  the  happi 
ness  to  learn  from  him,  this  morning,  that  there  is  a  fair  prospect  of 
young  Collingwood's  recovery."  —  "  Happy  to  hear  it,"  cried  the 
doctor,  "  very  happy,  —  narrow  escape,  —  a  miss  is  as  good  as  a 
mile,  —  might  have  been  rather  a  disagreeable  business."  —  "A 
very  disagreeable  business,"  rejoined  the  clergyman,  with  a  signifi 
cant  and  solemn  expression.  "  The  kind  providence  of  an  all-mer 
ciful  GOQ  has  spared  an  amiable  young  man,  to  be  still,  I  trust,  for 
many  years,  as  he  has  been,  since  he  came  to  manhood,  the  support 
«t  a  \\  ;dowed  mother  :  and  the  same  protecting  power  has  preserved 
M.  i.  22* 


258  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

the  son  of  our  worthy  friends  here,,  .'rom  the  gallows !  \  very 
disagreeable  business,  to  be  sure  !  All  this,  but  for  God's  special 
favor,  would  have  been  the  effect  of  drinking  wine,  from  which  you 
say  no  evil  consequences  are  to  be  expected.  Had  the  point  of  the 
deadly  weapon  varied  in  its  direction  the  tithe  of  a  hair,  I  fear," 
continued  the  clergyman,  dryly,  "  the  prophylactic  energies  of  com 
bination,  upon  which -you  rely,  would  not  have  saved  these  two 
unhappy  families  from  unspeakable  distress."  —  "  You  mistake  my 
meaning,  sir,  altogether,"  replied  the  doctor.  —  "Not  at  all,  I 
apprehend,  Dr.  Farrago,"  rejoined  his  opponent ;  "  you  say,  that 
no  evil  consequences  are  to  be  expected  from  wine,  and  that  you 
rely  upon  the  prophylactic  energies  of  combination,  whereby  the 
virulence  of  the  alcohol  is  supposed  to  be  neutralized.  Now,  it 
seems,  that  the  evils  of  drinking  wine  are  twofold,  —  those,  which 
affect  the  health  and  happiness  of  the  drinker,  and  those,  which 
affect  the  safety  of  other  persons,  who  may  fall  under  the  wine- 
drinker's  displeasure,  during  the  paroxysm  of  drunkenness.  The 
energies  of  combination  seem  not  to  be  of  much  avail  in  furnishing 
additional  security  from  the  wine-dmnkard 's  wrath."  —  "  This  is  a 
very  interesting  topic,"  said  the  doctor,  looking  at  his  watch  ;  "  I 
should  be  happy,  nay,  delighted,  to  discuss  it  with  you,  Dr.  Smith, 
if  I  had  time,  but  my  hour  draws  nigh  for  a  consultation  with  Dr 
Floyer,  on  old  Col.  Guzzler's  case,  which  is  exceedingly  perplexing, 
and  will  occupy  us  more  than  an  hour."  —  "Dr.  Farrago,"  said  th  > 
clergyman,  "I  can  save  you  the  trouble  of  an  unnecessary  visit 
Dr.  Floyer  informed  me,  at  Mrs.  Gollingwood's,  this  morning,  that 
Col.  Guzzler  died  suddenly,  just  before  day,  of  gout  in  the  stomach." 

—  "  Is  it  possible  !"  said  the  doctor ;  "  why,  sir,  he  dined  out,  only 
two  days  since,  with  the  Terrapin  Society,  and  drank  his  bottle  of 
Madeira,  as  cheerily  as  ever."  —  "The  prophylactic  energies  of 
combination  do  not  appear  to  have  saved  the  old  colonel  from  the 
horrors  of  the  gout,  nor  from  death  itself,  Dr.  Farrago."  —  "  Hem, 

—  why,  no  sir,  no  sir, — but  there's  another  side  to  that  story," 
replied  the  doctor.     "  Between  ourselves,  the  old  colonel  was  not 
a  first-rate  judge  of  wine.     He  had  no  small  amount  of  poor  stuff  in 
his  cellar.     Ay,  sir,  had  he  confined  himself  to  the  pure  juice,  it 
would  have  been  otherwise.     The  pure  juice  never  hurt  anybody. 
I  have  my  suspicions,  that  our  young  friend  here  has  been  drink 
ing  soms  vile  compounds,  at  the  hotel ;  cannot  believe  the  pure  juice 
would  produce  such  ill  effects."  —  "  Ah,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  the 
clergyman,  "  it  is  high  time  the  public  mind  should  be  disabused  of 
a  great  amount  of  error,  in  relation  to  the  properties  of  this  pure 
juice,  *vhich  you  consider  so  entirely  innoxious.     Dr.  Farrago,  you 


WELL  ENOWfl  FOR  THE  VULGAK.  260 

of  course  agree,  that  the  beverage  employed  by  Noah,  when  lie 
beg-an  to  be  an  husbandman,  and  planted  a  vineyard,  so  many  hun- 
ireds  of  years  before  distilled  alcohol  was  known,  was  the  pure  juice. 
Yet  the  prophylactic  energies  availed  him  not ;  they  averted  not  the 
consequence  of  drinking  an  intoxicating  liquor  ;  they  appear  to  have 
had  no  power,  in  preventing  the  first  quarrel  after  the  flood,  nor  in 
averting  the  curse  which  fell  upon  Canaan.  These  energies  of 
combination,  do  not  seem  to  have  had  the  slightest  influence  in  quell 
ing  those  horriale  disorders,  which  sprang  up  in  the  family  of  Lot, 
w  en  he  became  drunk  with  wine.  These  neutralizing  energies 
sa/ed  not  the  inebriated  Belshazzar,  and  his  drunken  lords,  from 
rushing  on  their  fate,  when  they  flung  insult  against  the  majesty  of 
heaven.  Nor  did  they  preserve  the  primitive  Christians  from  being 
drunken  around  the  table  of  their  Lord."  — "  Very  true,  all  very  true, 
sir,  very  true,  indeed,"  cried  the  doctor ;  "but  we  refer,  you  know, 
to  the  prophylactic  energies  of  combination,  in  regard  to  the  physi 
cal  effects  of  pure  wine  upon  the  drinker  himself."  —  "I  had  always 
supposed,  sir,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  that  drunkenness,  and  its  con 
sequences,  were  among  those  physical  effects.  But  if  you  refer  to 
the  supposed  effects  of  these  energies  of  combination,  in  relation  to 
bodily  health,  do  we  not  all  know,  that  the  gout  is,  proverbially,  the 
wine-drinker's  portion  ?  That  dyspepsia,  and  several  other  grievous 
diseases,  are  produced  by  the  use  of  wine,  and  frequently,  when 
otherwise  produced,  exacerbated  thereby,  is  not  to  be  denied."  — 
"  This  may  be  true,  sir,  now  and  then,"  replied  the  doctor.  —  "  Nay, 
my  dear  sir,"  rejoined  the  clergyman,  "  it  is  very  frequently  true." 
—  "But,  my  good  sir,"  resumed  the  doctor,  "what  are  the  very 
worst  effects  of  wine,  under  any  circumstances,  compared  with  the 
effects  of  alcohol?"  —  "And  pray,  sir,"  inquired  the  clergyman, 
"  do  you  question  the  existence  of  alcohol  in  wine?"  —  "  Nothing 
but  the  elements,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  nothing  but  the  elements  of 
alcohol,  sir,  I  assure  you.  I  insist  on  the  distinction,  I  insist  upon 
it,  sir."  —  "Dr.  Farrago,"  said  the  clergyman,  "it  is  needless  to 
argue  about  that,  which  is  definitively  settled.  The  chemists, 
Rouelle  and  Fabbroni,  supposed  that  alcohol  was  the  product  of 
distillation,  and  not  the  educt,  and  that  the  elements  of  alcohol,  and 
not  formed  alcohol,  existed  in  simply  fermented  liquors.  This  sup 
position  has  been  abundantly  disproved.  If  it  were,  correct,  alcohol 
could  not  be  drawn  from  fermented  liquors,  without  raising  the  tem 
perature  ',o  the  point  necessary  for  distillation.  But  Mr.  Brande  has 
separated  the  alcohol  from  all  pure  wines,  by  the  aid  of  chemicn] 
agents,  without  any  distillation  whatever,  and  without  raising  the 
temperature  of  the  vinous  liquor  ,  and  so,  doctor  can  you  and  L 


SCO  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR   THE  VLLGAR. 

Now,  if  this  alcohol  will  make  men  drunk,  and,  if  men,  thus  made 
drunk,  will  commit  every  variety  of  crime,  it  seems  to  me  a  very 
unprofitable  employment  of  talent  and  time,  to  draw  distinctions,  as 
fine  as  gossamer,  where  no  real  difference  exists,  between  the  alco 
hol  in  wine,  and  the  very  same  alcohol,  separated  from  that  wine, 
either  by  distillation,  or  any  other  chemical  process.  It  is  a  remark 
able  fact,  that,  when  the  Almighty  denounced  drunkenness,  against 
all  the  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem,  as  a  national  curse,  he  bade  the 
prophet  prefigure  the  great  calamity,  by  telling  them  that  every  bottle 
should  be  filled  with  WINE  ;  the  pure  juice,  doctor,  containing  no 
other  alcohol,  than  that  produced  by  its  own  fermentation."  —  "  A 
great  deal  in  what  you  say,  sir,  no  doubt ;  very  plausible,  very 
plausible,  indeed,"  cried  the  doctor,  rising  quickly,  and  looking  at 
his  watch  ;  "  I  will  step  up,  madam,  and  look  at  the  patient  a  mo 
ment  before  I  go.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Broughton,  good  morning, 
Dr.  Smith." 

Frederick  Broughton  was  confined  to  his  chamber  for  several 
months.  His  debauch  terminated  in  a  brain  fever,  from  which  his 
recovery  was,  for  some  time,  exceedingly  doubtful.  At  length,  by 
the  aid  of  a  vigorous  constitution,  he  escaped  from  the  very  jaws  of 
death,  and  the  hands  of  Dr.  Farrago.  Young  Collingwood's  re 
covery  was  more  rapid.  The  world,  as  usual,  sat  in  judgment  upor 
the  affray  between  these  young  gentlemen,  and  the  decision  was 
extremely  unfavorable  to  Broughton.  Even  his  military  associates 
began  to  shrink  from  his  society.  Major  Bentley,  soon  after  the 
general's  recovery,  sent  in  his  resignation,  and  General  Broughton 
began  to  realize  the  practical  effects  of  his  intemperate  career. 

The  prohibition  against  wine  and  games  of  chance  is  contained  in 
the  same  passage  of  the  Koran.  We  are  instructed  by  Sale,  in  his 
preliminary  discourse,  that  the  word  wine,  as  employed  in  the  Ko 
ran,  is  intended  to  comprehend  every  kind  of  intoxicating  liquor.* 
There  would  have  been  little  wisdom  in  this  prohibition  of  the  false 
prophet  of  Mecca,  had  it  been  limited  to  one  instrument  of  intoxica 
tion,  or  to  an)  particular  game  of  chance,  leaving  his  followers  at 
liberty  to  indulge  themselves  in  drunkenness  and  gambling,  in  a 
variety  of  unforbidden  forms.  It  is  very  manifest,  therefore,  that 
the  professors  of  temperance,  who  have  pledged  themselves  to 
abstain  from  ardent  spirit  alone,  have  by  no  means  attained  to  the 
wisdom  of  the  prophet. 

The  career  of  the  unfortunate  young  gentleman,  who  is  the  SUD- 
ject  of  the  present  narrative,  presents  a  forcible  illustration  of  Ma- 

*  Sale's  Preliminary  Discourse,  sec.  v. 


ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  26  J 

If  mot's  K-^  •.;[',.  ;i:. •!  <•:  the  wisdom  of  a  comprehensive  pledge 
wine  is>  abundantly  stirlicient  for  the  production  of  all  drunkenness; 
and,  when  the  haul;  of  intemperance  is  effectually  formed,  it  is  not 
likely  to  he  corrected ,  by  the  most  rigid  abstinence  from  that  identi 
cal  beverage,  by  whose  employment  it  was  first  engendered. 

The  elder  Mr.  Broughton's  views,  in  relation  to  the  innocency 
of  wine,  as  a  customary  beverage,  had  undergone  an  important 
change.  .  He  had,  for  some  time,  halted  between  two  opinions. 
The  sound  reasoning  of  Dr.  Smith  at  one  moment  almost  persuaded 
him  to  abandon  his  indulgence  ;  but  the  long-fostered  appetite  for  a 
single  glass  of  his  pure  old  wine,  —  the  presence  of  a  visitor,  before 
whom  he  was  not  quite  prepared  to  avow  and  defend  the  conclusions 
of  his  own  mind,  —  the  unutterable  expressions  of  Mrs.  Broughton, 
which  seemed  silently  to  say,  —  not  a  syllable  of  temperance,  —  it 
is  well  enough  for  the  vulgar,  —  all  these  considerations  prevailed, 
and  he  commonly  drowned  his  feeble  resolutions  in  the  social  glass. 
In  short,  the  dictates  of  his  better  judgment  were  less  efficacious 
than  the  influence  of  his  better  half.  His  recent  domestic  trial, 
however,  had  turned  the  scale  ;  and,  if  any  additional  motive  were 
necessary  to  confirm  him  in  his  good  resolution,  it  was  abundantly 
supplied  by  a  severe  paroxysm  of  the  gout,  which,  even  the  pro 
phylactic  energies  of  the  costliest  and  purest  old  Madeira  had  been 
utterly  insufficient  to  prevent. 

Shortly  after  the  recovery  of  Frederick  Broughton,  he  gave  his 
father  a  solemn  promise,  that  he  would  abstain  entirely  from  wine ; 
upon  which  occasion,  his  mother  remarked,  that  his  word  was  as 
good  as  his  bond  ;  such,  indeed,  had  already  become  a  generally 
received  opinion.  Frederick  Broughton  kept  his  word  ;  from  that 
time,  he  turned  from  all  wine  with  loathing  and  disgust. 

At  the  expiration  of  a  fortnight  from  the  period  of  his  return  to 
his  ordinary  pursuits,  and  to  the  society  of  such  of  his  former  asso 
ciates,  as  still  adhered  to  him,  he  was  brought  home  in  a  hackney 
coach,  superlatively  drunk,  a  harmless  and  helpless  mass.  It  would 
be  needless  to  describe  an  additional  fit  of  hysterics,  which  befell 
his  incomparable  mother,  or  the  terrible  exacerbation  of  his  father's 
gout,  which  followed,  as  a  natural  consequence  of  this  event.  The 
young  gentleman  had  made  a  very  valuable  discovery,  and  was 
carrying  his  theories  into  successful  operation.  His  prompt  acqui 
escence,  when  his  father  demanded  a  promise  for  the  abandonment 
of  wine,  arose,  in  no  small  degree,  from  his  growing  experience, 
of  its  disagreeable,  acescent  effects  upon  his  stomach.  He  was 
delighted,  beyond  measure,  to  perceive  the  stimulating  power,  pos 
sessed  by  a  much  smaller  quantity  of  brandy,  without  that  unpleas- 


262  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

ant  disturbance  of  a  debilitated  stomach,  produced  by  the  tartaric 
acid  in  wine.  A  fatal  and  ruinous  relish  for  strong-  dr  nk  had  become 
a  part  of  his  second  nature.  The  opinion  of  his  parents  that  his 
only  danger  was  from  the  employment  of  a  gentlemanly  beverage, 
and  that  his  appetite  was  too  refined  to  resort,  for  its  gratification, 
to  vulgar  inebriants,  proved,  and  will  almost  universally  prove, 
where  a  vehement  appetite  for  any  kind  of  intoxicating  liquor  is 
already  fixed,  a  miserable  delusion. 

A  consecutive  series  of  tears  and  entreaties,  reiterated  promises 
of  amendment,  brief  intervals  of  sobriety,  returning  fits  of  drunken- 
n(  ss,  and  tears  and  entreaties,  again  had  established  the  fact,  that 
General  Broughton  was  a  common  drunkard.  The  return  of  this 
wretched  young  man  to  his  father's  dwelling,  in  a  state  of  beastly 
intoxication,  under  the  civil  guardianship  of  a  watchman,  or  some 
companion  of  his  revels,  less  drunken  than  himself,  had  become  a 
common-place  affair.  Such  occurrences  were  no  longer  confined  to 
those  hours  of  darkness,  which  are  commonly  selected  by  all  but 
inveterate  drunkards,  as  the  season  of  their  loathsome  debauchery. 

One  morning,  about  eleven  o'clock,  Mrs.  Broughton 's  attention 
was  arrested  by  a  violent  rapping  at  the  front  door.  Its  immediate 
repetition  induced  her,  without  waiting  for  the  domestic,  to  ascer 
tain  the  cause  of  this  violent  knocking.  Upon  opening  the  door, 
she  instantly  recognized  the  person  of  Ashur  Jennison,  her  old  dis 
carded  coachman.  He  was  dressed  in  sailor's  apparel,  and  manifestly 
tipsy.  —  "  Why,  Jennison,"  said  Mrs.  Broughton,  "is  it  you?"  — 
"  No,  it  isn't,  my  leddy,"  he  replied,  doffing  his  tarpaulin  ;  "  I  *m 
a  bit  water-logged,  as  your  leddyship  sees."  — "  Where  have  you 
been,  Jennison,"  continued  Mrs.  Broughton,  "since  you  left  us , 
and  what  is  the  occasion  of  this  violent  knocking  1"  — "I  've  been 
round  Cape  Horn,  my  leddy,  and  got  ashore  this  blessed  morning, 
ye  see,  and  have  gotten  a  gill  or  so  more  than  was  convenient."  — 
"  Well,  well,  Jennison,  you  had  better  go  your  ways  ;  nothing  will 
save  you  from  destruction,  unless  you  join  the  temperance  society  : 
it 's  well  enough  for  the  vulgar,  and  may  possibly  suit  one,  in  your 
condition."  —  "Bless  your  leddyship,  one  good  turn  deserves 
another  ;  I  've  just  been  knocking  at  the  rapper,  to  let  my  old  master 
know,  that  the  first  acquaintance  I  met,  after  I  got  ashore,  was  the 
gin'ral.  He  was  in  a  sad  pickle,  my  leddy,  drunk  as  a  hum-top, 
and  a  parcel  of  landlubbers  poking  fun  at  the  poor  fellow.  The 
temperance  society  may  be  well  enough  for  the  vulgar,  as  youi  led 
dyship  says,  but  I  'm  afraid  't  would  puzzle  any  such  craft  to  over 
haul  such  a  genteel  clipper  as  my  young  master.  However,  1 
thought  I  'd  just  be  after  letting  you  know  the  young  gentleman 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  263 

was  in  trouble."  —  Mrs.  Broughton  scarcely  waited  for  the  last 
words,  but  slammed  the  door  in  Jennison's  face,  who  put  a  quid  of 
tobacco  in  his  cheek,  and  turned  upon  his  heel,  muttering,  as  he 
left  the  door,  —  "  The  same  old  painted  fire-ship  that  she  was  five 
years  ago." 

Shortly  after  Mr.  Broughton's  return  at  the  dinner  hour,  hie 
attention  was  attracted  to  the  window,  by  a  mob  of  men  and  boys, 
who  were  approaching  his  dwelling.  Two  men  were  apparently 
sustaining  the  steps  of  a  third,  who  was  evidently  too  drunk  to  walk 
unaided,  and  who  appeared  to  be  an  object  of  derision  and  thought 
less  mirth  to  the  mob,  who  followed,  hooting,  and  hissing,  and  occa 
sionally  assailing  the  miserable  sot  with  stones  and  dirt.  It  was 
just  at  that  hour,  when  gentlemen  usually  return  home  from  their 
places  of  business.  Mr.  Broughton's  residence  was  situated  in  a 
fashionable  quarter  of  the  city,  and  several  of  his  acquaintances 
were  passing  at  the  very  moment,  when  the  two  assistants,  who 
appeared  to  be  charitably  disposed,  were  vainly  attempting  to  silence 
the  drunkard's  voice,  and  dragging  him,  evidently  against  his  will, 
towards  the  door.  His  apparel  was  torn,  and  covered  with  the  mud, 
in  which  he  had  wallowed  ;  his  face  had  been  severely  cut  against 
the  curb-stone,  on  which  he  had  fallen  ;  and  his  countenance  was 
shockingly  disfigured  by  the  blood,  which  still  continued  to  flow. 
The  narcotic  influence  of  the  alcohol  he  had  swallowed,  had  not  yet 
perfected  its  work  of  stupefaction  ;  the  poor  drunkard's  brain  teemed 
with  the  fantasy,  that  the  individuals,  who  were  humanely  conduct 
ing  him  to  a  place  of  safety,  were  his  military  aids,  and  that  the 
rabble,  in  his  rear,  was  no  other  than  the  identical  brigade,  which 
he  formerly  commanded  ;  and  he  appeared  particularly  anxious  to 
form  them  into  a  hollow  square,  and  return  them  his  thanks  for  their 
soldierly  behavior,  and  dismiss  them  for  the  day. 

At  this  moment,  the  door  was  opened  by  Mr.  Broughton,  and, 
scarcely  had  he  presented  himself  before  the  assembly  without, 
when  his  worthy  partner  was  at  his  side.  She  had  no  sooner  shut 
the  door  in  poor  Jennison's  face,  and  despatched  the  coachman  and 
footman  in  pursuit  of  their  young  master,  than  she  put  on  her  bon 
net,  and  betook  herself  forthwith  to  madam  Frattle,  for  comfort  and 
consolation.  She  had  returned,  just  in  season  to  contemplate  this 
miserable  spectacle.  It  was  no  difficult  task  for  a  father  or  a  mother 
to  discover,  in  the  wretched  being  before  them,  covered  with  blood, 
irid  dirt,  and  rags,  as  he  was,  their  only  child,  the  object  of  their 
fond  parental  hopes.  What  a  stay  and  staff  was  here,  for  that 
period,  when  life  is  on  its  lees,  and  even  the  notes  of  the  happy 
grasshopper  become  a  burden  to  the  ear  of  a  feeble,  old  man !  Mrs 


264  WELL  ENO  GH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

Broughton  was  immediately  conveyed  to  her  chamber,  in  a  fit  of 
hysterics,  which  so  constantly,  upon  every  occasion  of  unusual 
excitement,  served  for  a  discharge  in  full  from  all  immediate  respon 
sibility.  So  readily,  however,  were  all  other  considerations  absorbed 
in  those  of  caste  and  fashion,  in  the  bosom  of  this  poor  lady,  that 
her  paramount  concern,  upon  her  recovery  from  the  brief  paroxysm, 
was  an  apprehension,  that  her  husband  might  be  persuaded,  by  the 
recent  exhibition  of  drunkenness  in  their  son,  to  become  a  member 
of  the  temperance  society.  Least  of  all  did  it  occur,  in  the  midst  of 
her  reflections,  to  associate  this  awful  and  disgusting  consumma 
tion,  with  her  own  early  endeavors  to  teach  her  poor  boy  to  take 
his  glass  like  a  gentleman  ! 

The  measure  of  callous  indifference,  which  is  here  described,  will 
appear  to  many  entirely  inconsistent  with  the  maternal  character, 
unless  among  scenes  of  extremely  coarse  and  vulgar  life.  This, 
however,  is  a  faithful  transcript  from  the  book  of  nature  and  of 
truth.  In  that  class  of  society,  which  is  equally  removed  from  the 
follies  and  vices  of  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the.  devotees  of  fashion, 
and  the  victims  of  ignorance  and  vulgarity,  the  lords  of  palaces,  and 
the  tenants  of  hovels, —  the  best  and  purest  affections  of  the  heart 
are  most  likely  to  be  faithfully  developed.  In  the  midst  of  gayety 
and  fashion,  there  are  not  more  convenient  opportunities  for  serious 
contemplation  than  among  those  scenes  of  coarse,  common-place 
debauchery,  which  are  peculiar  to  the  lowest  grades  of  society. 
Whatever  be  the  subject  matter  of  affliction,  unless,  alas,  it  be  the 
loss  of  wealth,  —  whether  it  be  the  death  or  degradation  of  a  parent, 
or  a  wife,  or  a  child,  the  mourners  must  remember  that  they  have 
no  occasion  to  mourn  as  those  without  hope,  so  long  as  the  courts 
of  fashion  are  open  for  their  reception  again.  In  the  estimation  of 
the  gay,  it  is  an  unpardonable  evidence, of  weakness,  to  grieve 
Deynnd  the  fashionable  term.  The  bereaved  is  summoned,  by  the 
voice  of  a  giddy  world,  to  repair  his  loss,  from  among  those  happy 
hundreds,  who  are  more  than  half  ready  to  soothe  his  sorrows.  The 
heir  is  expected  to  find  a  balm  of  consolation  for  the  death  of  an 
honored  father,  in  the  reflection,  that  the  estate  remains  for  his 
enjoyment.  Those  ten  thousand  occasions  of  joy,  and  merriment, 
and  festivity,  which  belong  to  fashionable  life,  are  so  many  absorb 
ents,  which  take  up  the  particles  of  sorrow,  in  the  bosom  of  a  dev 
otee,  with  wonderful  celerity.  The  vulgar  sot  becomes  not  more 
effectually  drunk  with  his  ordinary  beverage,  than  the  votary  of 
fashion  with  its  continual  fascinations.  A  diminution  of  natural 
affection,  an  indifference  to  the  calls  of  suffering  and  sorrow,  an 
unwillingness  to  participate  in  the  benevolent  operations  of  the  day. 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  265 

are  common  to  them  both ;  and  both  are  equally  remarkable  for 
their  eagerness  in  pursuit  of  their  respective  means  of  intoxication. 
It  furnishes,  therefore,  no  legitimate  occasion  for  surprise,  that  the 
son  of  fashionable  parents,  an  unconquerable  drunkard,  lost  to  him 
self,  and  to  the  world,  should  occupy  his  solitary  apartment,  under 
the  paternal  roof,  while  the  glittering  saloons  beneath  resound  with 
all  that  unmeaning  noise  and  nonsense  which  invariably  proceed 
from  promiscuous  assemblies  of  fashionable  people ;  and  while  the 
parents  of  this  unhappy  victim  are  regaling  their  numerous  guests, 
with  that  very  thing,  which  made  their  son  a  drunkard. 

Let  us  return  to  our  narrative.  Mr.  Broughton,  by  repeated 
occurrences  of  a  similar  nature,  had  become,  in  some  measure, 
familiarized  to  these  painful  exhibitions.  He  caused  his  son  to  be 
conveyed  to  his  chamber,  and,  closing  the  outer  door,  the  rabble 
speedily  dispersed  from  before  his  dwelling.  After  a  slight  repast, 
he  walked  the  apartment  in  silence,  for  hours,  reflecting  upon  his 
domestic  misfortunes,  and  revolving  a  variety  of  expedients,  which 
might  afford  a  measure  of  relief. 

When  Mrs.  Broughton,  who  had  quite  recovered  from  her  hys 
terics,  took  her  place  at  the  tea-table,  she  was  particularly  struck 
with  the  composure  apparent  on  the  countenance  of  her  husband. 
He  had  commonly,  upon  such  occasions,  evinced  a  greater  degree 
of  anxiety.  She  remarked  upon  the  circumstance. — "I  have 
long,"  said  he,  in  reply,  "been  doubtful,  in  regard  to  the  coursn, 
which  it  is  my  duty  to  pursue,  in  relation  to  our  unhappy  child.  I 
have  given  this  painful  subject  my  serious  consideration,  for  the  last 
two  hours,  and  my  resolution  is  fixed.  Distressing,  as  the  alterna 
tive  may  prove,  Frederick  shall  either  go  to  the  house  of  correction, 

or  sign "  "Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,  Mr.  Broughton," 

cried  his  partner,  dropping  the  tea-pot  from  her  hand,  "  what  do 
you  mean?  sign  the  pledge  of  the  temperance  society!  dear  rap, 
that  ever  a  Broughion  should  do  that !"  —  "  I  mean  nothing  of  the 
sort,"  said  Mr.  Broughton,  "  and  if  you  will  listen,  I  will  proceed. 
He  shall  sign  the  shipping  paper  of  a  whaling  vessel,  that  is  just 
ready  for  sea."  —  "  Dear  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Broughton,  "  how  you 
frightened  me.  I  was  in  the  twitters,  for  a  moment,  for  fear  you 
meant  he  should  join  that  vulgar  society." 

Mrs.  Broughton  had  long  been  persuaded,  that  her  pride  waa 
Jikely  to  be  continually  humbled,  by  the  misconduct  of  her  son. 
Beyond  the  matter  of  a  few  animal  tears,  shed  in  advnr.re,  at  ine 
thought  of  a  separation,  her  maternal  tenderness  was  thoroughly 
exhausted.  Her  affections  were  riveted  elsewhere.  The  gay  world 

VOL.  i.  23 


266  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR. 

was  enough  for  her ;  and  she  readily  acquiesced  in  the  dete/mina- 
tion  of  her  hushand. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Mr.  Broughton  entered  the 
apartment  of  his  son.  He  had  already  dressed  himself,  and  was 
sitting  upon  his  bed.  His  whole  countenance  and  manner  were 
those  of  a  drunkard,  after  a  severe  debauch.  He  raised  his  eyes 
upon  his  father's,  but  was  unable  to  encounter  their  unusual  expres 
sion  of  calm  severity.  Mr.  Broughton,  upon  all  former  occasions, 
and  until  his  mind  had  settled  down  into  a  state  of  quiet  decision, 
had  either  given  vent  to  ebullitions  of  anger,  or  lamentations  and 
tears.  This  profligate  young  man  had  become  perfectly  familiarized 
to  both,  and  had  met  them  with  apparent  contrition,  and  promises  of 
amendment. 

"Frederick,"  said  Mr.  Broughton,  after  a  solemn  pause,  "1 
have  suffered  more  on  your  account  than  I  think  I  ever  can  suffer 
again.  I  believe  I  have  shed  the  last  tears  I  shall  ever  shed  on 
your  account,  unless  I  should  hear  of  your  death,  or  your  refor 
mation.  You  are  now  a  notorious  drunkard,  and  I  am  resolved  no 
longer  to  endure  the  disgrace,  which  you  bring  upon  me  daily. 
I  have  formed  my  resolution.  No  promises,  nor  tears,  nor  entreaties 
shall  induce  me  to  change  it.  You  shall  go  to  the  house  of  correc 
tion,  as  a  common  drunkard,  upon  the  complaint  of  your  own  father, 
—  or  you  shall  proceed,  this  day,  on  board  a  whaling  ship,  which 
will  sail  to-morrow.  You  are  fit  for  no  office,  and  must  enter  as  a 
green  hand,  before  the  mast.  You  must  now  take  your  choice."  — 
Frederick  raised  his  eyes  upon  his  father's,  once  more,  and  he  there 
re.id  a  clear  confirmation  of  his  statement,  that  the  decision  was 
unchangeable: — he  lowered  his  eyes  upon  the  floor,  and,  after  a 
brief  pause,  expressed  his  willingness  to  go  to  sea. 

Arrangements  were  speedily  made.  The  captain  was  made 
acquainted  with  the  habits  of  this  young  man,  and  with  the  wishes 
of  his  father.  The  vessel,  in  which  he  embarked,  was  a  temper 
ance  ship.  It  is  not  necessary  to  detail  the  particular  circumstances 
uf  his  departure.  The  reader  will,  of  course,  suppose,  that  Mrs. 
Broughton  had  a  fit  of  hysterics,  though  he  will  scarcely  believe 
that  she  attended  a  crowded  party  that  very  evening  ;  such,  how 
ever,  was  the  fact.  Mr.  Broughton  took  leave  of  his  son  without  a 
tear,  but  with  an  assurance,  that  should  he  thoroughly  reform,  he 
«vocM  tako  him  to  his  anus.  vr\t»/  t^rs  of  joy. 

The  &Uir>,  having  bem  towed  by  a  steamer  to  the  Balize,  soon 
goi  im.iet  way,  ai:d  stood  out  to  sea,  with  a  favorable  wind.  Be 
fore  night,  however,  the  xvind  carae  Irosh  ahead,  and  it  became 
necessary  1o  close  haul.  Poor  Frederick,  utterly  ignnrant  of  a 


WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR.  267 

sailor's  duty,  was  knocked  back  and  forth  by  the  men,  as  they  ran 
to  and  fro.  At  last,  rather  than  appear  utterly  helpless,  he  laid 
hold  of  a  rope ;  but,  instead  of  belaying  it,  in  a  proper  mannui ,  he 
gave  it  a  landsman's  round  turn,  or,  as  the  tars  call  it,  a  cow-hitch, 
lie  had  scarcely  taken  his  hand  off  the  rope,  before  he  felt  a  smart 
slap  upon  the  shoulder,  and  a  jack-tar  bawled  in  his  ear,  —  "  Avast, 
gin'ral,  I  '11  show  ye  how  to  belay."  —  Here,  then,  was  an  end  cf 
his  incognito,  and  he  had  no  longer  the  satisfaction  of  believing  that 
his  humiliation  was  a  secret  of  his  own.  But  what  was  his  sur 
prise,  when,  looking  round  upon  the  speaker,  he  beheld  the  well- 
known  features  of  Ashur  Jennison,  his  father's  cast-off  coachman, 
a  companion  of  the  same  forecastle  with  himself,  for  a  three  years' 
voyage  ! 

We  know  nothing  more  of  Frederick  Broughton  ;  and,  as  death 
ensues  for  the  want  of  breath,  our  narrative  must  close  for  the  want 
of  additional  materials.  Enough,  however,  has  probably  been  pre 
sented  to  the  mind  of  every  reflecting  reader,  to  satisfy  him  that 
temperance  societies  are  not  only  WELL  ENOUGH  FOR  THE  VULGAR, 
but  for  the  educated,  the  opulent,  and  the  refined. 


NANCY  LE  BARON. 


The  faithful  delineation  of  reality  and  truth  will  sometimes  produce  a  picture,  wbica  the  bold** 
reaver  of  romance  would  scarcely  venture  to  indite,  — if  it  were  the  wild  creation  of  hit  <ancy.  In 
the  preparation  of  the  following  narrative,  the  writer  has  carefully  selected,  from  the  mass  of  cunoui 
materials,  which  have  been  communicated  to  him,  from  authentic  sources,  such  as  were  least  iiktlj 
to  oti'und,  on  account  of  their  apparent  improbability.  Certain  incidents,  which,  of  strict  right, 
oelons  to  this  painful  account,  have  been  sacrificed,  upon  the  altar  of  decency  and  taste.  Haw- 
ever  interesting  to  the  mere  anatomist  of  drunkenness,  they  would  undoubtedly  shock  the  M<IM- 
bility  of  some,  and  stagger  the  confidence  of  others.  — It  may  shrewdly  be  asked,  however,  .f  i»j 
«*J:iTagance  be  too  gross  or  too  fantastical,  to  form  a  legitimate  result  from  such  a  cause  1  What 
mm,  gin,  brandy,  whiskey,  and  other  intoxicatin?  liquors,  are  the  well-known  premises,  who  will 
pretend  to  set  any  limit  to  the  conclusions?  Drunkenness  is  madness;  and,  when  the  mind  « 
brought  thus  low,  all,  of  course,  is  riot  and  misrule  ;  and  one  species  or  type  of  extravagance  may  1 1 
as  rationally  expected  to  supervene,  as  another. 

As  a  body,  no  one  of  the  learned  professions  has  more  reason  to  thank  the  Giver  of  every  good  an  I 
perfect  gift,  for  any  precious  blessing,  than  the  professors  of  the  healing  art,  for  the  temperane* 
reform.  Few  men  were  more  exposed  to  daily  and  hourly  trial  and  temptation,  in  this  respect,  than 
medical  men;  particularly  those,  whose  sphere  of  duty  lay  among  the  broadcast  population  of  coun 
try  towns.  It  is,  indeed,  matter  for  astonishment,  that  country  physicians,  some  twenty  or  thirty 
years  a»o,  were  not  more  frequently  intemperate  men.  Hard  service,  by  night  and  dy  day,  long 
rides,  cold  weather,  abundance  of  liquor,  ever  in  full  view,  and  the  fashion  of  the  time.,  all  con 
•pired  to  stupefy  the  physician  ;  and  fortunate  was  the  sufferer,  who  received  his  attention,  at  an 
early  hour  of  the  day.  It  was  hard  and  rare  practice  when  the  doctor  gave  physic,  and  took  nothing 
in  return,  beside  his  fee.  It  was  impossible  to  resist  the  good  wife's  importunities,  whether  the 
temptation  consisted  of  the  city  lady's  glass  or  two  of  the  choicest  old  Madeira,  kept  expressly  foi 
the  tick,  —  or  the  poor  country  woman's  hot  toddy,  stirred  up  expressly  for  the  dear  doctor.  Prids 
and  jealousy  had  so  thoroughly  mingled  with  our  ancient  hospitality,  in  the  rum  department,  ut 
least,  that  the  physician,  wlio  had  partaken  of  tiie  rich  patient's  bonne  boucke,  could  not  decenXlr 
reject  even  the  sick  beggar's  bottle. 


IT  is  eminently  disagreeable  to  be  the  only  intelligent  and  tolera 
bly  well-informed  person,  in  a  well-filled  stage-coach,  during  a  long, 
dusty  ride,  of  a  summer's  day.  Your  companions  will,  somehow  or 
other,  discover  the  fact,  that  your  intellectual  cistern  is  more  capa 
cious  than  their  own  ;  and  each  one,  in  his  turn,  will  be  sure,  with 
a  little  turbid  water  from  his  contracted  reservoir,  in  the  shape  of  a 
searching  interrogatory,  "  to  fetch  your  pump,"  and  keep  you  at  it, 
from  dawn  till  dark. 

We  had  been  wholly  exempted  from  this  travelling  abomination. 
Half  a  dozen  better  tonguesters,  and  more  mannerly  companions, 
have  seldom  passed  the  whole  day  together,  within  the  walls  of  a 
stage-coach.  If  we  had  "  made  up  a  party,"  we  should  have  done 
worse,  beyond  all  doubt.  We  fell  into  conversation,  almost  as 
readily,  as  though  we  had  been  comrades  from  our  cradles.  We 
certainly  were  very  agreeable  to  ;me  another,  for  we  disagreed 
about  nothing.  We  soon  made  the  dis^o-miy,  that  we  entertained 
the  same  political  opinions;  upon  somt  iillusion  to  the  subject  o/ 
religion,  it  became  equally  apparent,  that  we  were  of  one  mind,  in 
relation  to  the  loathsome  and  heartless  doctrines  of  infidelity  ;  and, 
when  we  entered  the  dining-parlor,  at  the  half- way  house,  a  p 

VOL.  I.  23* 


270  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

and  universal  requirement,  for  the  removal  of  the  brandy-bottle  from 
th*j  table,  established  the  fact,  that  we  were,  one  and  all,  cold-water 
men.  It  was  one  of  the  shortest  and  pleasantest  days  of  my  exist 
ence. 

The  sun  was  now  about  to  bathe  in  the  ocean,  after  a  hot  day's 
work.  We  had  just  reached  the  summit  of  a  wearisome  acclivity, 

and  there  lay  before  us  the  little  village  of ,  and  the  hill> 

and  the  valleys  beyond.  We  caught  no  glimpse  of  the  ^oisy  river, 
but  we  knew,  by  the  rushing  sound  at  the  bottom,  among  the  iaik, 
tangled  wood,  that  the  wild  Amonoosuck  was  hurrying  down** aid, 
\vith  its  lately-gathered  tribute  of  mountain  waters.  —  We  had 
become  suddenly  silent ;  and,  as  I  had  borne  something  more,  per 
haps,  than  my  share  of  the  conversation,  and  entered  as  heartily,  at 
least  as  any  other,  into  the  innocent  pleasantry  of  the  day,  my  com 
panions  began  to  rally  me  upon  the  change.  "  It  is  sad  to  part," 
said  I,  *-  from  one's  friends,  even  after  so  brief  an  acquaintance." 
This  was  a  sufficient  explanation  for  them  ;  but  my  heart  had  a 
reason  of  its  own,  which  was  no  concern  at  all  of  theirs  :  — I  was, 
at  that  moment,  entering  the  little  hamlet,  where  I  was  born,  aftei 
an  absence  of  fifteen  years ! 

We  now  began  to  descend  the  hill,  and  the  driver,  whose  whole 
soul  was  swallowed  up  in  the  desire  of  exhibiting  the  spirit  of  his 
horses,  cracked  forward  with  a  velocity,  that  put  an  end  to  all 
thoughts,  but  those  of  our  personal  safety.  We  soon  alighted,  at  the 
tavern  door ;  the  horses  were  instantly  shifted  ;  and  I  took  leave  of 
my  companions,  who  went  a  stage  further  on  their  way.  —  In  the 
dusk  of  the  evening,  I  found  it  impossible  to  identify  the  landmarks 
of  my  youth.  The  old  meeting-house,  however,  was  not  to  be  mis 
taken  ;  and  the  tavern  was  the  same,  kept  by  Colonel  Rumrill,  twenty 
years  ago.  After  looking  at  my  accommodations  for  the  night,  and 
swallowing  a  potion  of  bohea,  sweetened  with  brown  sugar,  and 
stirred  up,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  with  a  rummy  spoon,  which  a 
round,  red,  little  hostess  provokingly  hoped  was  "perfectly  agree 
able.  ;"  I  resolved  to  reconnoitre  the  tenants  of  the  bar-room,  and 
ascertain,  if  any  of  the  wretched,  old  grasshoppers,  who  used  to 
chirp  and  sip  sling,  in  that  very  place,  some  twenty  years  ago,  were 
Btiil  upon  their  legs.  Accordingly,  carefully  muffled  up  in  my  trav 
elling  cloak,  with  n.-v  h?t  drawn  over  my  eyes,  I  elbowed  my  way 
through  the  nois>  ihronj,  and  took  my  seat  quietly  in  a  corner. 
The  atmosphere  was  ]»oiicctly  saturated  with  the  effluvia  of  rum 
and  tobacco.  Fortunately  I  was  sufficiently  supplied  wiih  fresh  air, 
through  a  broken  pane  or  two  in  the  tavern  window.  As  the  smoke 
cccasioually  passed  away,  I  caught  a  view,  between  the  puffs,  of 


NANCY  LE  BARON.  271 

the  different  individuals,  who  composed  the  several  groups.  Now 
and  then,  I  discovered  an  old  standard ;  but  I  was  greatly  surprised 
to  behold  so  many  faces,  which  were  entirely  new  to  me.  The 
host  himself  was  a  stranger.  He  was  a  sedate-looking  personage, 
and  appeared  to  understand  himself  and  his  affairs  exceedingly  well ; 
and  it  was  truly  surprising  to  mark  the  quantity  of  toddy,  and  flip, 
and  sling,  and  julep,  and  drams  of  all  sorts,  which  he  could  prepare 
in  a  single  evening.  I  particularly  noticed,  that  he  invariably  drank 
off,  and  it  appeared  to  me,  unconsciously,  all  the  heeltaps  or  sugared 
reliquia  at  the  bottom,  which  were  left  by  his  customers ;  and  his 
countenance  was,  by  no  means,  indicative  of  total  abstinence.  A 
miserable  object,  very  gray  and  very  ragged,  edged  his  way  through 
the  crowd  towards  the  bar,  and  stood,  in  the  attitude  of  one,  who 
scarcely  dares  to  give  utterance  to  his  wishes.  —  He  turned  his  face 
towards  the  lamp  ;  —  I  knew  him  at  once  :  it  was  old  Enoch  Run 
let,  who  worked  on  my  father's  farm,  till  my  parents  died,  when 
the  farm  (for  my  father  died  poor)  passed  into  other  hands.  Enoch 
was  a  sad  dog.  He  was  the  wag  of  the  village  ;  and  the  villagers 
often  got  him  garrulously  drunk,  for  the  sake  of  enjoying  his 
humor.  He  was  eminently  useful  on  training  days.  On  such 
occasions,  he  would  commonly  seat  himself  on  the  lee  side  of  the 
pail  of  punch,  for  the  sake,  as  he  said,  of  the  perfume. — At 
weddings  and  ordinations,  he  always  contrived  to  be  in  attend 
ance;  and  no  shark  ever  followed  a  slaver  upon  the  high  sea, 
more  assiduously,  than  Enoch  followed  his  vocation  of  mourner-in- 
general  for  the  dead.  Hundreds  of  times  I  have  seen  him  enter  the 
dead  man's  apartment ;  stroke  down  his  hair  upon  his  forehead ; 
walk  up  slowly  to  the  coffin  ;  look  down  upon  the  corpse  with  a 
mournful  shake  of  the  head  ;  and  then,  turning  to  the  table  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  receptacle  of  death,  pour  out  and  swallow  a  liberal 
glass  of  the  very  poison,  which  had  too  frequently  demolished  the 
defunct.  —  Enoch  was  evidently  determined,  with  an  air  of  mock 
humility,  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  host.  Every  glass  of  spirit, 
that  was  consumed,  seemed  to  increase  the  beggar's  importunity  of 
manner.  He  could  no  longer  be  disregarded.  — "  What  are  you 
here  for,  Runlet?"  said  the  host,  with  rather  a  repulsive  tone  of 
voice.  Enoch  reached  forward,  and  whispered  in  the  taverner'a 
ear.  "You've  got  no  money,"  said  the  host.  "No,  deacon," 
said  Enoch,  "but  I'm  expecting  a  little,  in  a  day  or  two."  — 
"  You  won't  get  any  rum  here  to-night,"  said  the  deacon,  "  so,  the 
sooner  you  go  about  your  business,  the  better."  —  "Do,  Deacon 
Mixer,  let  us  have  a  gill,"  said  Enoch,  with  a  winning  and 
beseeching  air.  —  "I  won't,"  said  the  deacon.  —  "Half  a  gill 


272  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

then,"  continued  the  beggar.  —  "I  tell  you  I  won't,"  replied  th« 
deacon,  with  increasing  energy. — Enoch  held  on  like  a  leech. 
"Dear  Deacon  Mixer,"  said  he,  "just  let  us  have  a  taste."  — 
"  Not  a  drop.  Runlet,"  answered  the  deacon,  stamping  his  foot, 
and  breaking  his  toddy-stick  as  he  struck  it,  in  his  anger,  against 
the  bar. — "Well  then,"  cried  Enoch,  running  his  nose  in  the 
taverner's  face,  "just  let  a  poor  fellow  get  a  smell  of  your  breath. 
Deacon  Mixer!"  —  This  stroke  of  humor  caused  such  peals  of 
laughter,  as  made  the  old  house  shake  to  its  very  foundations.  The 
deacon  lost  his  temper,  and  threw  a  whole  glass  of  toddy,  which 
he  had  just  compounded,  with  particular  care,  for  Squire  Shuttle,  at 
the  beggar's  head.  Enoch  avoided  the  compliment,  with  singular 
adroitness,  and  the  squire  himself,  who  was  standing  directly  behind 
him,  received  the  whole  glass  of  toddy  in  his  face  and  eyes.  This 
circumstance,  while  it  excited  the  squire's  anger,  increased  the 
uproar  of  this  respectable  assembly.  The  deacon  made  a  hundred 
awkward  apologies,  and  a  fresh  glass  of  toddy,  which  he  presented 
in  the  most  humble  manner  imaginable.  This  scene  had  scarcely 
passed,  when  old  McLaughlin,  the  sexton,  whom  I  well  remembered 
in  my  youth,  entered  the  room,  and,  putting  a  gallon  jug  upon  the 
bar,  exclaimed,  in  his  well-known  accent,  "  Dacon  Mixer,  I  has 
come,  for  the  Communion  woine."  —  It  was  Saturday  night.  —  Is 
it  possible,  thought  I,  that  this  man  will  have  the  heart  or  the  har 
dihood  to  officiate  at  the  table  of  his  Lord  upon  the  morrow  !  —  I 
quitted  the  apartment,  and  retired,  in  disgust,  to  my  chamber  for 
the  night. 

On  the  morrow,  I  attended  the  village  church,  and  there,  in  the 
deacon's  seat,  I  beheld  the  very  same  toddy-making  Pharisee,  whose 
performances,  upon  the  preceding  evening,  I  have  already  recounted 
And,  when  the  minister  named  his  text — "What  is  man?"  — 
truly,  thought  I,  what  is  man!  —  I  found  myself  surrounded  by 
strangers.  A  new  generation  had  sprung  up,  and  there  were  very 
few,  of  whose  features  I  had  any  recollection.  —  Chloe  was  yet 
alive.  She  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  gallery.  She  was  an  old  scoffer, 
and  I  had  never  expected  to  see  her  in  the  house  of  God.  She  lived 
on  the  skirts  of  the  village,  and  got  her  livelihood  by  selling  cake 
and  ale,  and  telling  fortunes.  When  I  was  eighteen,  a  giddy, 
thoughtless  boy,  I  was  fool  enough  to  lay  out  the  better  part  of  my 
savings,  in  prophecies  and  predictions,  which  Chloe  had  ever  ready 
for  those,  who  would  part  with  their  money  in  return.  Upon  the 
faith  of  this  old  impostor,  who,  by  inquiries  of  others,  had  dis 
covered  the  secret  aspirations  of  my  boyish  heart,  I  was  induced 
to  make  ny  suit  to  the  squire's  daughter,  who  speedily  sent  me 


NANCY  LE  BARON.  275 

away  with  a  flea  in  my  ear.  —  Through  the  influence  of  a  religious 
companion  of  her  youth,  she  was  the  pious  daughter  of  infidel 
parents,  though  they  were  among  the  first  people  of  the  village, 
and  owned  the  very  best  pew  in  the  church.  I  was  a  poor  plough- 
boy,  whose  parents  had  nothing  to  balance  the  account  withal,  but 
willing  hands  and  honest  hearts.  The  decided,  but  kind-hearted 
manner,  in  which  she  rejected  my  exceedingly  awkward  demon 
strations,  my  very  first  overtures  of  love,  were  enough  to  settle  the 
question  of  her  excellent  good  sense,  and  my  own  incompaiable 
folly. — And  yet  I  have  never  blamed  myself  severely,  for  ;his 
innocent  mistake  of  my  youth  ;  for,  though  there  were  many  vho 
wanted  courage  to  acknowledge  the  fact,  there  were  few  of  our 
village  lads,  who  had  not,  at  some  time  or  other,  fancied  themselves 
in  love  with  Nancy  Le  Baron. 

After  the  death  of  my  parents,  having  received  a  good  school 
education,  and  being  held  down  for  life  to  the  little  hamlet,  in  which 
I  was  born,  by  no  consideration  of  interest ;  I  determined  to  seek  my 
fortune  in  the  metropolis.  By  the  assistance  of  a  fellow-townsman, 
who  had  pursued  a  similar  course,  with  remarkable  success,  I 
obtained  a  situation ;  which  became  the  stepping-stone  to  all  my 
future  good  fortune.  By  unremitting  activity  and  application,  for 
fifteen  years,  I  had  become  the  master  of  a  "  pretty  property."  It 
the  reader  has  any  curiosity  to  ascertain  the  connection,  between 
this  portion  of  my  history  and  the  visit  to  my  native  village,  it  is  but 
fair  that  he  should  be  gratified.  I  had  begun  to  put  a  few  profitable 
interrogatories  to  my  own  heart :  —  In  what  way  shall  I  employ 
fhese  riches  ?  Am  I  not  getting  weary  of  this  interminable  accumu 
lation?  I  felt,  at  the  age  of  thirty-five,  that  I  had  lived  alone  long 
enough ;  and,  if  there  were  a  person  upon  earth,  to  whom  I  desired 
10  say  so,  that  person  was  Nancy  Le  Barcn.  Ten  years  before,  I 
had  heard  some  rumors  of  misfortunes  in  her  father's  family ;  there 
was  a  mighty  difference  between  the  poor  ploughboy,  and  the  man 
of  handsome  estate;  Nancy  might  have  become  less  fastidious 
withal;  and,  perhc^s,  I  might  count,  in  some  measure,  upon  the 
effect  of  that  constancy,  "-hion  had  flourished  for  fifteen  years, 
without  even  the  poor  solace  ol  hope  deferred.  Such  then  con 
fessedly  was  the  main  object  of  my  visit.  It  was  my  intention,  if 
Nancy  Le  Baron  were  unmarried  still,  to  offer  her,  once  more,  the 
hand,  which  she  had  already  rejected. 

I  was  very  forcibly  struck,  by  the  change,  which,  in  so  short  a 
space,  had  taken  place  among  the  inhabitants  of  the  village.  After 
[  had  taken  my  seat  in  the  meeting-house,  and  kept  my  eyes  steadily 
fixed  upon  the  squire's  pew,  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  I  had  the 


274  NANCY  LE  BARON. 


,  at  last,  to  see  it  occupied  by  strangers.  I  looked  HI 
*iu\  t<-i  ^a-ficy,  in  every  comer.  1  scarcely  noticed  an  individual 
of  whom  I  should  have  been  able  tu  Cither  any  information,  in 
re^-ifd  to  an  old  standard,  excepting  Major  Moody,  the  miller, 
wbiiSfi  expression  was  always  about  a»  6om,  ^s  a  great  portion  of 
the  meal,  which  he  sold.  On  my  reuui.  i./  the  tavern,  I  ventured  to 
interrogate  the  landlady  :  "  Pray,"  said  1,  *'  is  Squire  Le  Baron  yet 
living?''  —  "  Le  Baron,"  said  she,  "I  h-a-vc  heard  that  name;  we 
have  lived  here  only  a  few  years  ;  the  laciory  business  has  brought 
a  great  many  new-comers  to  the  village,  who  have  taken  the  places 
of  the  old  folks."  —  "  How  long  have  you  resided  here?"  I  inquired. 
—  "  We  have  kept  the  tavern  about  seven  years,  sir,  and  have  had 
a  good  run  of  business.  The  deacon  is  very  particular  about  his 
liquors,  and  gives  general  satisfaction,  for  he  never  waters  his  rum. 
He  has  it  direct  from  Deacon  Gooseberry's  distillery.  It  's  a  great 
pity,  sk,  that  the  whole  business  was  not  confined  to  deacons  and 
church-members  ;  it  would  then  be  done  upon  honor.  Sha'n't  I 
fetch  you  a  little  spirit  before  dinner,  sir  ?  it  's  very  cheering  after  a 
long  sermon."  —  "But,  my  good  woman,"  said  I,  "I  have  not 
been  preaching."  —  "  That  's  true,  to  be  sure,"  replied  this  talkative 
hostess,  "  but  I  often  say  so  to  Parson  Me  Whistler,  and  he  always 
takes  it  very  kindly."  —  At  this  moment,  the  good  woman  was 
called  away  ;  and,  taking  my  hat  and  coat,  I  walked  forth  into  the 
village.  I  bent  my  course  towards  the  squire's  mansion.  It 
appeared  not  to  have  undergone  any  remarkable  alteration.  As  I 
walked  on  the  further  side  of  the  street,  I  observed  several  children 
looking  forth  from  the  windows.  —  Nancy  is  married  !  thought  I. 
Those  are  her  children  !  —  I  strolled  forward,  endeavoring  to  reconcile 
myself  to  a  disappointment,  which  I  had  certainly  gathered,  before 
it  was  ripe,  as  men,  of  a  certain  temperament,  are  prone  to  take  up 
trouble,  at  an  exorbitant  rate  of  interest.  I  had  walked  on,  till  I  came 
to  the  village  grave-yard.  Almost  unconsciously,  I  found  myself 
within  the  melancholy  pale.  My  recollections  of  many,  who  had 
gone  entirely  from  my  memory,  were  readily  recalled  by  the  simple 
memorials  around  me.  According  to  the  prevailing  custom  of  man 
kind,  some  twenty  years  ago,  almost  every  adult,  whose  name  I 
noticed  upon  the  head-stone,  had  been  a  moderate  drinker  in  his 
day.  A  very  large  proportion  had  been  incorrigible  sots.  What  a 
motley  group,  thought  I,  in  the  great  day  of  the  resu-recticn,  shall 
arise  together  from  the  drunkard's  grave  ! 

While  I  was  thus  engaged,  my  attention  was  aroused  by  the 
footstep  of  a  person,  who  had  approached  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
place  where  I  stood.  —  It  was  old  Enoch  Runlet,  who  had  excited 


NANCY  LE  BARON.  275 

the  deacon's  indignation,  on  the  preceding  evening,  bv  his  importu 
nity  for  grog.  He  was  apparently  sober,  and  his  smooth  chin  and 
general  appearance  indicated  some  little  regard  for  the  outward 
observances,  at  least,  of  God's  holy  day.  He  knew  me  at  once. 
"  Why,  Mr.  Lawder,"  said  he,  "  what,  in  the  name  o'  natur,  has 
brought  you  here  ?  I  thought,  as  I  was  a  going  by,  that  it  was  so 
much  like  Isaac  Lawder,  that  I  must  needs  step  in  and  see.  We 
heard  that  you  had  got  to  be  quite  a  fine  body,  and  we  never  thought 
to  see  you  in  these  parts  again,  among  us  poor  folks,  in  the  old 
village.  If  a  body  may  be  so  bold,  what  in  the  world,  Master  Isaau, 
has  sent  you  this  way?" — I  was  perfectly  aware,  that  nothiig 
could  surpass  this  fellow's  insatiable  curiosity,  unless  it  were  the 
skilful  exercise  of  that  power  of  rapid  combination,  which  enables  a 
Yankee  to  reach  the  mark  with  the  accuracy  of  a  patent  rifle.  — 
"  You  always  was  a  leetle  kind  o'  melancholy,  Master  Isaac ;  I  've 
seen  ye  walk  in  this  here  place  afore,  of  a  moonlight  night,  when 
you  was  a  younker.  I  guess  you  haant  come  up  here  a  speculating, 
arter  lands  or  the  like?"  —  "  No,  Enoch,  I  have  no  such  design," 
I  replied. — "I  guess  you  've  made  a  sight  o'  money  already,' 
continued  he.  —  "  Why,  as  to  that,  Enoch,"  said  I,  "  I  have  thf 
substance  of  Agur's  prayer,  neither  poverty  nor  riches.  Pray, 
good  Enoch,  who  occupy  the  old  mansion-house,  where  Squire 
Le  Baron  used  to  live1?"  —  "Why,  I  guess,"  replied  Enoch, 
"  they  're  the  same,  what  has  occupied  it  for  the  last  five  years  :  7 
guess  you  haant  got  a  mortgage  on  it,  have  you?"  —  At  that  mo 
ment,  this  inveterate  guesser  fell  over  one  of  the  foot-stones,  in  the 
grave-yard,  and  the  writhing  of  his  features  assured  me,  that  he 
had  bruised  himself  severely.  —  "I  guess  you  have  hurt  your  shin, 
Enoch,"  said  I.  — "I  guess  I  have,"  said  he.  —  "  Well  then,"  I 
resumed,  "  I  hope  you  will  leave  off  guessing,  and  give  me  a  few 
direct  answers  to  some  very  plain  questions.  I  perceive,  that  you 
tumbled  over  Bill  Tillson's  grave ;  it  is  better  so,  than  to  tumble 
into  it,  for  Bill  was  an  awful  drunkard."  —  "I  guess  you  're  a  cold- 
water  man,  Master  Isaac,"  said  he.  —  "  Well,  Enoch,"  I  replied. 
'*  for  once,  you  have  guessed  right,  and  I  hope  you  will  rest  satis 
fied.  I  wish  you  to  inform  me  where  Squire  Le  Baron  now 
resides."  —  "Why,  Master  Isaac,  didn't  you  know,  as  how  the 
squire  had  been  on  Deacon  Gooseberry's  farm  these  six  years, 
come  next  April ?  did  n't  you  know  that?"  —  "  On  Deacon  Goose 
berry's  farm  ?  —  Who  is  Deacon  Gooseberry  ?"  —  "  Why,  Deacon 
G  mseberry  has  been  a  distiller  in  this  village,  for  twelve  years,  and 
this  grave-yard  is  called  the  deacon's  farm,  and  here,  — step  thia 
«vaj,  Master  Isaac,  a  piece, — here  is  the  squire's  head-stone."— 


276  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

"  Is  it  possible !"  said  I,  as  I  read  the  "  Sacred  to  the  memory."  — 
"  "Was  he  intemperate  at  last  ?"  I  inquired.  —  "  Very,  very,"  said 
Enoch,  with  a  ludicrously  solemn  expression  upon  his  countenance, 
and  a  deaconish  shake  of  the  head  ;  little  suspecting  that  I  had 
witnessed  his  own  performance  on  the  preceding  evening ;  and,  like 
many  drunkards,  unapprized  of  the  full  extent  of  his  own  unenviable 
fame.  "  The  squire  used  to  be  a  temperate  man,  Enoch,"  said  I, 
"  in  my  father's  life-time."  —  "  And  long  after,  Master  Isaac,"  he 
replied.  "About  seven  years  ago,  he  delivered  a  temperance 
address,  in  the  next  county,  against  ardent  spirits ;  but  the  tempei- 
ance  folks  blamed  him  very  much,  for  going  to  the  tavern,  in  the 
evening,  after  the  lecture,  and  calling  for  his  bottle  of  wine.  We 
poor  folks,  who  take  a  little  rum  now  and  then,  don't  see  the  wit 
o'  that,  Master  Isaac.  I  guess  you  take  a  little  wine  yourself,  now 
and  then."  —  "  No,  Enoch,"  said  I.  —  "A  little  ale  then,  or  por 
ter,"  continued  he.  —  "Not  a  drop  of  any  intoxicating  drink,"  I 
replied  :  "I  am  a  consistent  cold-water  man,  and  have  no  more 
belief,  that  intemperance  will  be  entirely  abolished,  by  the  abandon 
ment  of  ardent  spirit,  than  that  the  vice  of  gambling  would  be 
rooted  out,  by  the  abolition  of  the  game  of  all-fours.  But  pray  tell 
me,  Enoch,  what  has  become  of  the  squire's  family  ?"  —  "  The  old 
lady  is  gone,"  he  replied  ;  "  she  took  a  little  spirit  herself,  in  a  sly 
way.  The  old  gentleman  did  pretty  well,  till  he  lost  his  property, 
and  then  he  left  off  wine  pretty  much,  and  took  to  the  other  things. 
He  wasn't  used  to  it,  ye  see.  It  never  hurts  me,  and  I  don't  think 
it  ever  will ;  but  it  fixed  the  squire  right  off.  It  did  n't  seem  to  agree 
with  him." — "What  became  of  Miss ,  the  squire's  daugh 
ter?" —  "Why,  Master  Isaac,  you  haven't  forgot  her  name,  I 
guess;  Miss  Nancy,  you  mean.  She  was  your  old  flame,  you 
know:  I  guess  you've  got  married  afore  this,  Master  Isaac."  — I 
fairly  wished  myself  rid  of  the  fellow ;  but,  putting  the  best  face 
upon  the  matter,  I  observed,  with  an  air  of  indifference,  that  I  had 
seen  some  children  at  the  mansion-house  window,  and  that  I  had 
conjectured  Nancy  was  married,  and  that  those  children  might  be 
hers.  —  "I  guess  they  aren't,"  answered  Enoch ;  "  Master  Isaac, 
I  always  thought,  that  you  and  the  squire's  daughter  would  hcive 
made  i  good  match ;  but  Miss  Nancy  thought  she  could  do  better  ; 
BO  she  went  further  and  fared  worse  by  a  great  chalk.  It  's  abcu! 
nine  years  since  she  was  married  ;  and,  for  so  good  a  young  lady, 
and  one,  who  was  brought  up  so  delicate,  she  has  had  a  har  i  iiv.L  u; 
it.  She  married  a  Doctor  Darroch,  who  soon  lost  the  chief  £art  of  his 
business,  and  treated  the  poor  creature  roughly  enough.  She  hof 
three  little  childrsn,  at  d  they  're  as  poor  as  snakes  in  winter. 


NANCY   LE  BARON.  277 

He  cheated  her,  by  a  great  show  of  religion.     Maybe,  Master  Isaac, 
for  the  sake  of  old  acquaintance,  you  'd  be  willing  to  give  'em  a  lift." 

—  "  Poor  Nancy,"  said  I,  after  a  short  pause.     "  Good  Enoch,  tell 
me  if  this  unprincipled  brute,  this  Doctor  Darroch,  that  you  speak 
of,  continues  to  use  her  unkindly?"  —  "  Ha,  ha,"  he  replied,  "  he 
hasn't  given  her  much  trouble  of  late  ;  why  the  doctor 's  been  two 
years  at  least  upon  the  deacon's  farm  here.     He  fell  off  his  horse 
one  winter  night,  and  was  found  dead  in  a  snow-drift,  next  morning. 
Some  folks  thought  he  died  o'  the  rum  palsy,  and  others  that  he  had 
swallowed  some  of  his  own  physic  by  mistake  ;  but  the  genera] 
opinion  seemed  to  be  that  he  broke  his  neck.     Nobody  was  soii'y 
for  his  death,  though  his  wife,  notwithstanding  he  used  her  like  a 
brute,  said  it  was  her  duty  to  remember,  that  he  was  the  father  of  her 
poor  little  ones,  and  so  she  gave  him  a  decent  funeral,  such  as  it  was. 
'Twas  melancholy  enough,  you  may  be  sure,  for  there  wasn't  a 
drop  o'  liquor,  from  the  time  we  went  in  to  the  time  they  lifted  the 
body.     Old  McLaughlin,  our  sexton,  said  't  was  the  driest  corpse  he 
ever  buried,  by  all  odds.     It  was  so  plain  a  case,  that  everybody 
rejoiced,  because  his  poor  wife  was  relieved  from  such  a  drinking 
tyrant.     Rum,  Master  Isaac,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  has  done  a 
mortal  sight  o'  mischief  in  this  town."  — "  But,  Enoch,"  said  I, 
"  where  do  they  live  at  present,  and  what  means  have  they  of  sup 
port?" —  "Why,"  said  he,    "you  know  where  Long  Pond  is; 
they  live  in  the  old  cottage,  upon  the  skirt  of  the  pine  wood.     The 
mother  knits  and  sews  ;  and,  now  and  then,  gets  a  chance  to  wash 
and  iron,  when  her  strength  will  let  her,  though  she 's  quite  down 
of  late  ;  and  two  of  the  children  are  old  enough  to  pick  berries  in 
summer  ;  and,  in  one  way  and  another,  they  make  out  to  rub  along." 

—  What  a  reverse !  thought  I.     The  old  squire  and  his  lady  were 
the  nobility  of  the  village  ;  their  wealth  alone  was  enough,  some 
fifteen  years  ago,  to  give  them  rank  and  importance ;  poor  Nancy, 
preeminent  in  the  little  circle  of  the  parish,  for  her  sweetness  of 
disposition  and  personal  charms,  was  their  only  child.     The  parents 
have  died,  poor  and  degraded  ;  and  their  daughter  lives,  the  widow 
of  a  worthless  drunkard,  encumbered  with  three  starving  children. 

—  Nancy  Le  Baron  reduced  to  such  extremities  as  these!     Win 
ning  her  bread  by  the  sweat  of  her  brow  !     It  is  impossible  !  —  "  N« 
it  is  n't,"  cried  Enoch,  "  and  that 's  not  half  the  misery  on  't  neither. 
Poor  eoul,  she  's  had  to  run  for  life  afore  now,  and  hide  her  children 
in  the  v/ood,  of  a  snapping  cold  night.     Why,  he  used  to  flog  her 
?;ke  a  sack,  and  then  drive  her  down  cellar,  and  kick  the  children 
i  -und  the  room,  like  so  many  footballs.     She  bore  it,  they  s;  y,  like 
» aaint,  and  never  told  of  it  for  a  long  spell.     Old  Chloe,  the  fortune- 

vo:,   i.  24 


278  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

teJer  that  used  to  be,  first  brought  it  out.  She  was  passing  by  the 
house  one  night,  and  heard  her  scream,  and  peeped  in  at  the  win 
dow.  Old  Chloe  was  always  as  bold  as  a  lion,  you  know,  and  she  's 
about  as  strong  as  a  three  year  old  steer.  You  remember  Bijah 
Larkin,  Master  Isaac ;  — well,  Bijah  's  called  pretty  smart,  but  she 
trimmed  him  like  a  sapplin.  He  got  a  running  on  her  about  telling 
his  fortune,  and  raised  her  temper ;  so  says  she,  '  Bijah,  I  '11  tell 
your  fortune  for  you  —  you  '11  get  a  thrashing  afore  you  're  a  hair 
grayer,  if  you  don't  let  me  alone.'  Bijah  made  her  a  saucy  answer, 
and  she  gave  him  a  real  drubbing.  Folks  have  n't  left  off,  to  this 
day,  asking  Bijah  if  old  Chloe  wasn't  a  good  prophetess.  —  Well, 
as  I  was  a  saying,  the  old  creature  pushed  open  the  door.  Thi» 
devil's  bird  of  a  doctor  was  hauling  his  poor  wife  about  by  the  hair 
of  her  head,  and  the  children  were  crying  for  their  lives.  He 
ordered  the  old  negro  woman  out  of  the  h:  use.  But  the  good 
creature's  feelings  drove  her  on.  She  flew  at  him  like  &  tiger ; 
'Let  her  alone,  you  dirty  rum-sucker,'  she  cried.  'Many's  the 
good  meal  of  victuals  I  've  had  in  her  father's  kitchen,  and  her  old 
mother 's  been  kind  to  me  many  a  time,  and  I  won't  see  her  abused 
by  man  or  brute.'  So  she  caught  him  by  the  throat,  and  drove  him 
up  in  a  corner  among  a  parcel  of  gallipots  and  bottles.  She  was  a 
match  for  any  sober  man,  and  could  whip  a  rigiment  o'  drunkards 
afore  breakfast,  any  day.  A  neighbor  came  in,  and  took  away  the 
wife  and  children  for  the  night.  The  doctor  was  in  a  boiling  rage, 
and  threatened  to  bring  old  Chloe  up  afore  the  court,  for  a  vagrant 
and  a  fortune-teller.  The  old  woman  never  wanted  a  ready  answer ; 
so  she  told  him  she  was  afraid  of  nothing  but  his  physic,  and  that 
she  would  tell  his  fortune  right  off,  without  a  fee  :  '  You  've  sarved 
the  devil,'  said  she,  '  in  this  world  ;  and,  when  you  die,  you  '11  go 
where  they  don't  rake  up  fire  o'  nights.'  "  — "  What  an  infamous 
villain !"  said  I,  involuntarily  raising  my  stick  as  I  spoke,  "I  wish 
I  had  him  here."  —  "  I  'm  glad  you  haven't,"  said  Enoch  ;  "  take 
my  word  for  it,  Master  Isaac,  the  deacon's  farm  's  the  very  best  place 
for  him." 

I  inquired  if  this  poor  woman  had  no  neighbors  who  were  kind  to 
her.  "  Oh  yes,"  replied  Enoch,  "as  far  as  they  are  able,  but 
we  've  no  rich  folks  in  these  parts.  Old  Chloe  is  the  nearest  neigh 
bor  and,  like  enough;  tks  best  friend  into  the  bargain  :  her  hut  is  n't 
a  gun-shot  off  froh.  their  cottage."  —  I  thanked  Enoch  for  the  infoi- 
mation  he  had  afforded  me,  and  was  about  giving  him  a  trifle  ;  — - 
my  hand  was  already  in  my  pocket  —  the  com  was  betvvesn  my 
fingers.  But,  thought  I,  why  should  I  put  my  silver  on  the  high 
way  to  Deacon  Mixer's  till  ?  If  I  wish  to  do  this  poor  fellow  a 


NANCY  LE  BARON. 

service,  I  may  be  sure,  after  my  last  night's  experience,  that  I  am 
not  likely  to  accomplish  it,  by  affording  him  the  means  of  drunken 
ness.  I  was  about  to  withdraw  my  empty  hand,  when  a  glance  of 
my  eye  assured  me,  that  I  had  already  raised  his  expectations.  I 
took  the  coin  from  my  pocket.  "  Enoch,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  be  happy 
to  give  you  this  trifle,  if  you  will  promise  me,  that  you  will  not 
spend  it  in  liquor." —  "  Master  Isaac,"  said  he,  with  his  eyes  riv 
eted  upon  the  silver,  "  I  should  despise  the  very  thought  of  it ;  why, 
I  've  heerd  two  temperance  lectures,  and  have  pretty  much  given  up 
that  thing  of  late.  I  haven't  got  the  relish  for  it  I  used  to  have."  — 
"  Well,  well,  Enoch,"  said  I,  "  I  shall  probably  pass  a  few  days  in 
the  village,  and,  perhaps,  we  will  talk  of  this  matter  again  :  remem 
ber  your  promise."  —  Drunkards  are  very  commonly  liars.  Under 
the  influence  of  liquor,  their  declarations  are  strongly  tinctured  with 
the  spirit  of  extravagance  and  falsehood  ;  and  when  they  become 
sober,  it  appears  to  them  a  more  agreeable  task,  to  maintain  their 
statements,  by  accumulating  falsehood  upon  falsehood,  than  to  retract 
them  ;  because  such  retraction  would  most  commonly  involve  the 
admission,  that  such  statements  were  the  extravagances  of  a  drunken 
hour.  In  this  manner,  intemperate  persons  commence  playing  at 
fast  and  loose,  a  game  of  hazard,  as  it  were,  with  truth  and  false 
hood  ;  the  pride  of  conscious  veracity  is  speedily  annihilated  ;  and, 
ere  long,  whether  drunken  or  sober,  the  boundary  lines  of  falsehood 
and  truth  are  entirely  obliterated,  in  the  mind  of  an  intemperate  mar 

I  returned  to  my  inn,  with  some  little  misgiving,  in  regard  to  poor 
Enoch's  powers  of  self-restraint,  and  the  propriety  of  my  own  con 
duct.  How  many  shillings,  thought  I,  have  been  given  to  save 
one's  own  time  ; — how  many  to  avoid  the  beggar's  importunity  ; 
—  how  many  from  a  sort  of  hap-hazard  benevolence,  or  to  avoid  the 
reputation  of  meanness  ;  —  of  all  these,  how  many  have  contributed 
to  the  production  of  broken  heads  and  broken  hearts !  It  is  really 
surprising,  how  much  sheer  misery  a  misapplied  shilling  will  occa 
sionally  purchase,  for  some  poor  family.  He,  who  bestows  his 
money  upon  every  supplicant,  without  any  guaranty  for  its  useful 
employment,  embarks  in  a  lottery,  where  there  are  many  more  blanks 
than  prizes.  It  would  be  no  grateful  task  to  harden  the  heart  of 
man,  sufficiently  obdurate  already,  against  the  cries  of  his  fellow,  in 
distress  ;  but  the  practice  of  money-giving,  in  the  street,  to  mendi- 
r*».nfs,  whose  distresses  and  necessities  are  unstudied  and  unknown, 
w  equally  mischievous  and  absurd.  It  is  equivalent  to  bandaging 
the  ey*:s  of  Charity,  and  sending  her  forth  to  play  at  blind-man's- 
buff,  aoong  the  worthy  and  the  worthless  of  mankind. 

Al7  thoughts  were  soon  recalled  to  the  subject  of  Enoch's  narra- 


880  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

tive,  and  the  hard  fortunes  of  Nancy  Le  Baron.  I  should  certainly 
have  paid  a  visit  to  old  Chloe,  that  very  evenir  g,  had  I  not  been 
prevented  by  a  tremendous  storm  of  wind  and  rain,  whose  violence 
was  not  sufficient,  however,  to  prevent  a  dozen  worthies  or  more  of 
the  village,  from  collecting  in  the  bar-room  of  Deacon  Mixer.  I, 
by  no  means,  approve  of  spending  a  Sabbath  evening  in  the  bar 
room,  even  of  a  deacon  ;  but,  upon  the  present  occasion,  my  cuii- 
prevailed,  and  I  resumed  my  former  situation,  muffled  in  my 

velling  cloak,  as  before.  I  soon  perceived,  that  the  deacon  and 
nis  guests  were  of  the  same  opinion  with  the  framers  of  the  statute, 
xnat  God's  holy  day  goes  down  with  the  setting  sun.  No  trace  of 
Us  solemnity  appeared  to  remain.  Drinking  and  smoking  were  the 
amusements  of  the  evening.  Parson  McWhistler  and  his  lady  took 
tea,  as  I  discovered,  with  Mrs.  Mixer,  and  the  deacon's  time  was 
divided,  in  an  ecclesiastical  ratio,  between  the  minister  and  the 
ueople,  nine  tenths  of  it  to  his  customers,  and  a  tithe  to  his  spiritual 
?$uide.  The  concerns  of  both  worlds  were  strangely  mingled,  in  the 
naind  of  this  extraordinary  man  ;  and,  so  far  was  he  from  appearing 
10  perceive  the  slightest  incongruity,  between  his  office  of  deacon, 
and  his  calling,  as  rum-seller  to  the  parish,  that  he  really  seemed  to 
account  his  ministration  in  the  bar-room,  as  sanctified,  at  least  in  the 
eyes  of  his  fellow-men,  and  in  his  own,  by  his  holier  vocation. 
During  his  short,  occasional  visitations  to  the  apartment,  where  the 
Rev.  Mr.  McWhistler  and  his  lady  were  taking  tea,  the  affairs  of 
the  bar  were  managed  by  Moses,  the  deacon's  son,  a  sprightly  lad 
of  about  fourteen  years  of  age,  who,  I  remarked,  was  quite  as 
expert  as  his  father,  in  taking  off  heeltaps.  This  interesting  youth 
appeared  to  have  some  system  in  his  business  withal,  for,  whenever 
he  put  one  lump  of  sugar  into  a  glass  of  rum  and  water,  he  invari 
ably  put  two  into  his  own  mouth. 

I  had  not  been  long  in  my  position  in  the  corner,  when  two  men 
entered  the  apartment,  who  appeared  to  be  immediately  recognized, 
as  personages  of  some  importance.  They  were  very  wet,  and  one 
of  them,  who  carried  a  pair  of  small  seal-skin  saddle-bags  upon  his 
arm,  I  soon  ascertained  to  be  the  physician  of  the  village.  Room 
was  immediately  made  for  the  new-comers,  by  the  tenants  in  posses 
sion.  —  "  Let 's  help  ye  off  with  your  great-coat,  Dr.  Lankin,"  said 
a  tall  old  man,  with  a  wheezing  voice.  —  "  Thank  ye,  Mr.  Goslip," 
replied  the  doctor. — "Here's  a  peg  for  your  hat,  doctor,"  said 
another.  —  "  Obliged  to  ye,  thank  ye,  thank  ye,  neighbor  Hobbs  ; 
how  's  your  wife  ?"  —  "  Why,  she  keeps  her  head  above  water,  and 
no  more,  doctor.  I  was  a  telling  Mr.  Bellows  here,  just  afore  yc« 
in,  that  I  wanted  nothing  more  to  put  down  the  whole 


NANCY  LE  BARON.  281 

perance  society,  than  my  old  woman's  case.  I  know,  for  sartin, 
that  spirit 's  the  salvation  on  her.  Nothing  less  than  a  pint  a  day 
keeps  body  and  soul  together.  One  day,  last  week,  I  jist  put  in 
about  a  gill  o'  water  to  her  Hollands,  and,  my  soul,  you  never  see 
how  she  fell  away  :  she  'd  ha'  gone  off,  as  sure  as  a  gun,  if  I  had  n't 
gin  her  tother  gill  right  away."  —  "Don't  believe  a  word  on't," 
said  a  fellow  with  a  rough  voice  and  a  voluminous  countena  ice,  as 
h  ;  rolled  his  ponderous  person  to  and  fro,  after  the  manner  <  f  Dr. 
Johnson  ;  "  no  faith  in  that,  none  at  all."  — I  was  rejoiced  to  find 
an  advocate  for  temperance  in  such  an  assembly  as  this.  The  whole 
air  and  manner  of  this  individual,  was  inauspicious,  to  be  sure.  I 
had  seldom  met  with  a  countenance  more  decidedly  alcoholic  ;  but 
I  conjectured  that  he  might  have  recently  reformed.  —  "Why, 
Bellows,"  cried  old  Goslin,  who  could  scarcely  articulate,  for  the 
asthma,  "  'kase  you  don't  like  spirit,  you've  no  faith  in  it.  I 
know  as  how  it 's  saved  me.  My  asthma 's  dreadfully  helped  by 
three  or  four  spunfuls  o'  old  rum,  when  nothing  else  will  do  me  a 
mite  o'  good."  —"Don't  believe  it,"  said  Bellows,  "  no  more  than 
I  believe  my  old  anvil's  made  o'  cheese  curd."  —  At  this  moment 
the  parlor  door  was  opened,  and  the  deacon,  who  had  been  absent  a 
few  moments,  returned ;  he  held  the  door,  for  an  instant,  in  his  hand  : 
I  heard  the  strong  voice  of  Parson  Me  Whistler,  — "  What,  dear 
Deacon  Mixer,  what  is  faith  without  works'?"  —  "  Sure  enough," 
said  the  deacon,  as  he  shut  the  door,  and  stepped  back  into  his  bar. 
He  soon  pr-rceived  the  new-comers,  and  said,  in  a  half  whisper,  to 
his  aoii  —  "  Quick,  Mosy,  a  pitcher  of  hot  water  ;  the  doctor  always 
takes  it  liui." — 

The  iuuividualjwho  came  in  with  Dr.  Lankin,had  thrown  off  his 
coat,  auii,  having  lighted  a  cigar,  stretched  himself  at  length  on  a 
settle.  He  was  a  short,  round  man,  in  rusty  black ;  and,  as  he  lay 
upon  his  back,  sending  columns  of  smoke  directly  upward,  with 
regular  intermissions,  he  somewhat  resembled  a  small  locomotive 
engine.  He  uttered  not  a  word ;  but,  during  the  controversy,  in 
which  Hobbs,  Bellows,  and  Goslin  had  been  engaged,  each  speaker 
was  cheered,  at  the  conclusion  <»i  his  remarks,  by  the  short,  round 
man  hi  black,  with  ha,  ha,  ha,  or  ue,  he,  he,  or  ho,  ho,  ho  ;  and  yet, 
such  an  excellent  management  of  his  voice  had  he,  that  it  was 
utterly  impossible  to  ascertain,  to  which  side  of  the  argument  he 
inclined. 

Dr.  Lankin  sat  in  the  midst  of  this  assembly,  masticating  tobacco, 
twirling  his  thumbs,  and  with  an  unvarying  snr:le  upon  his  features. 
—  Hobbs  was  not  disposed  to  relinquish  the  contest.  —  "  Deacon," 
said  he,  "  I  '11  take  a  tumbler  of  your  gin  sling,  if  ^ou  please."  — • 

VOL.  i.  24* 


NANOY  LE  BAKON. 

"  Directly,  sir,"  said  the  deacon  ;  "  Mosy,  reach  me  the  Hollan  16. 

—  When  Hobbs  had  received  the  glass  from  the  deacon's  hand, 
"  Here  's  your  good  health,  Mr.  Bellows,"  said  he,  and  turned  off 
the  liquor  with  a  triumphant  air,  as  though  he  had  overwhelmed 
his  antagonist  with  an  unanswerable  argument.  —  "  Ho,  ho,  ho," 
cried  the  round  man  in  black.  —  "  You  've  swallowed  liquid  fire," 
said  Bellows,  "  and  it  '11  do  ye  jest  about  as  much  good  as  live  sea- 
coal  out  o'  my  furnace."  —  "  Ha,  ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  round  mui. 

—  "I  'ye  thought  a  good  deal  over  this  here  business  o'  drinking 
spirit,"  said  an  elderly  person,  who  sat  with  his  hands  clasped  over 
a  very  high  stomach,  and  whose  utterance  appeared  to  be  frequently 
checked  by  a  very  troublesome  flatulency.  —  "And  wrat's  your 
opinion  about  it,  Farmer  Salsify?"  inquired  Hobbs. — "Why,  no 
offence  to  anybody,  but  I  think  it 's  mor morally  wrong." 

—  "  He,  he,  ho,  ho,"  said  the  little  round  man.  —  Well,  thought  I, 
here  are  two  friends  of  temperance  at  least,  and  where  I  had  but  lit 
tle  expectation  of  finding  any.  —  "  How  long  is  it,  neighbor  Salsify, 
since  you  joined  the  Temperance  Society?''   inquired  Goslin. — 
"  Why,  don't  you  know  ?"  replied  Salsify.     "  'T  was  jest  arter  you 
fell  off  your  mare,  and  broke  your  leg,  town-meeting  arternoon, 
four  years  ago."  —  "Ha,  ha,  ha,"  said  the  round  man  in  black,  in 
which  he  was  joined  by  several  of  the  company,  while  Goslin  was 
seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  wheezing.  —  "You  may  say  jest  what 
you  please,"  continued  Salsify,   "I  believe  ardent  spirit's  rank 

poison.    There  's  no  wholesomer  drink  than  good  ripe cider. 

Deacon,  I'll  thank,  I '11 thank  ye  for  a  mug."—  •'  He, 

he,  he,"  said  the  little  man.  — "  Vile  trash,"  cried  Bellows,  "  no 
nourishment  —  full  o'  windy  colic  —  I  'd  stand  a  lawsuit  afore  I  'd 
touch  a  drop  on  't.     Deacon,  I  '11  task  a  mug  o'  your  good  draught 
porter,  or,  if  you  're  out,  a  mug  o'  strong  beer  will  do  :  there  's 
some  substance  in  that."  —  "  Ha,  ha,  ha,"  said  the  little  man. — 
[t  is  well,  thought  I,  that  the  cause  of  genuine  temperance  is  the 
cause  of  God,  for  its  fate  would  be  a  sad  one,  in  the  hands  of  such 
deplorable  defenders  as  these. 

It  was  understood  by  the  COTVOV.','  that  Parson  Me  Whistler  was 
in  the  house,  and  it  was  resoj;~,c  by  Hobbs,  Bellows,  and  Goslin, 
to  consult  him  on  the  rvbject.  Moses,  having  been  sufficiently 
instructed,  was  commissioned  to  give  their  respects  to  the  minister, 
and  ask  his  opinion  of  the  temperance  cause.  Moses  returned  in 
about  twenty  minutes,  with  a  response  from  the  parish  oracle,  sub 
stantially  as  follow?  :  "  Parson  Me  Whistler  says,  as  how  he  thinks 
very  well  on  it.  He  says  he  thinks  it  wrong  to  drink  ardent  spirit, 
and  beer,  and  cider,  for  they  Vvery  apt  to  intosticate,  but  if  folks 


NANCY  LE  BARON.  283 

will  drink,  that 's  then  business,  and  not  the  person's  what  sells  it.'* 
—  "  Moses,"  said  Dr.  Lankin,  "  did  he  sa)  anything  of  wine?" — 
"No,  sir,"  replied  Moses,  "he's  a  drinkiig  some  now  with  my 
mother."  —  "Ho,  ho,  ho.  ho,  ho,"  said  the  round  man,  and  the 
room  shook  with  laughter.  The  little  round  man  now  arose  and 
put  on  his  coat ;  and,  as  he  turned  his  face  to  the  light,  I  recog 
nized  the  features  of  Squire  Shuttle,  whose  toddy  had  been  admin 
istered  rather  unceremoniously,  on  the  preceding  evening.  The 
doctor  took  his  flip,  and  the  squire  his  toddy  ;  one  after  another  :he 
deacon's  customers  departed  ;  and,  as  I  rose  to  leave  the  room,  he 
was  engaged  in  emptying  his  till,  and  calculating  the  gains  whirh 
he  had  gathered  in  exchange  for  his  own  soul. 

Three  important  personages,  in  every  village,  whose  dealings 
respectively  are  with  the  souls,  bodies,  and  estates  of  their  fellow- 
townsmen,  have  the  power  of  exerting  a  prodigious  influence,  in 
relation  to  the  temperance  reform ;  and,  according  to  the  measure 
of  their  favor  or  dislike  of  this  mighty  enterprise,  it  is  frequently 
fated  to  succeed  or  to  fail.  The  minister,  the  physician,  and  the  law 
yer  are  the  fuglars  of  the  parish.  Show  me  the  village,  in  which 
the  clergyman  will  not  orant  the  use  of  his  pulpit  to  a  temperance 
lecturer,  because  the  temperance  cause  is  a  "  secular  matter ;"  —  in 
which  the  doctor  has  refused  to  sign  the  pledge  of  the  society,  because 
it  is  "  a  trap  for  his  conscience;"  —  and  in  which  the  lawyer  drinks 
toddy,  and  talks  loudly  of  "the  liberties  of  the  people;"  —  and  I  will 
show  you  a  drunken  and  a  worthless  township.  Parson  McWhist- 
ler,  Squire  Shuttle,  and  Dr.  Lankin,  were  gentlemen  of  a  very  dif 
ferent  order.  Yet  the  cause  of  temperance  appeared  not  to  flourish 
here.  Squire  Shuttle  and  Dr.  Lankin  were  never  known  to  utter  a 
syllable  in  opposition  to  the  reformation:  for  there  were  some 
wealthy  farmers  and  respectable  mechanics,  among  whom  their 
practice  lay,  and  who  were  its  decided  friends.  Yet  they  never 
gave  it  a  good  word  in  their  lives,  for  it  had  been  ascertained,  upon 
some  occasion,  in  a  public  meeting  of  the  town,  that  there  was  a 
strong  alcoholic  majority,  or,  in  the  cant  phraseology  of  the  day, 
that  the  rum  ones  had  it.  There  was  a  common  bond  of  interest, 
between  these  village  functionaries ;  for  the  doctor  bled  and  blis 
tered  in  the  lawyer's  family,  and  the  lawyer  collected  the  physi 
cian's  demands,  in  the  way  of  his  profession.  They  agreed  upon 
ell  important  matters  save  one — the  lawyer  drank  toddy  and  the 
doctor  drank  flip.  The  clergyman,  however,  had  acquired  the  rep 
utation  of  a  devoted  friend  of  the  cause.  He  had  lectured,  himself, 
in  opposition  to  ardent  spirits,  oeer,  and  cider,  but  he  accounted  it  a 
very  wicked  thing  to  call  that  a  poison,  which  our  Saviour  wrought 


284  NANCY  LE  BAROxV 

by  the  miracle  at  Cana.  Some  how  or  other,  the  parson's  habil  of 
indulging  in  wine  became,  a*  I  afterwards  heard,  a  matter  of  noto 
riety  in  the  parish,  and  utterly  destroyed  his  influence  as  an  advo 
cate  of  the  temperance  cause. 

Upon  the  following  morning,  after  a  slight  repast  at  the  inn,  1 
bent  my  steps  in  the  direction  of  Long  Pond.  It  was  one  of  those 
delightful  mornings,  near  the  end  of  June,  of  which  so  much  has 
been  sung  and  said  in  every  age.  The  storm  of  the  preceding  night 
had  entirely  passed  away,  and  the  bright  beams  of  the  sun  were  play 
ing  among  the  varnished  leaves  of  the  forest.  —  The  measure  of 
wretchedness,  into  which  Enoch  had  represented  this  ill-fated  young 
woman  to  have  fallen,  in  consequence  of  her  alliance  with  an  intem 
perate  man,  had  appeared  to  me  incredible.  No  small  portion  of  it 
all  I  had  ascribed  ta  that  disposition  to  deal  in  the  marvellous,  which 
is  so  common  among  those,  who  have  no  other  avenue  to  a  short 
lived  aggrandizement.  Enoch  Runlet  was  one  of  those  persons, 
who,  however  incompetent  to  draw  the  bow  of  Ulysses,  can  readily 
draw  long  bows  of  their  own.  —  It  is  impossible,  thought  I,  that 
Nancy  Le  Baron,  by  any  weight  of  sorrows,  can  be  reduced  to  such 
a  state  of  dependence.  And  yet  the  name  of  the  family  was  nearly 
extinct,  at  the  period  of  my  departure  from  the  village.  Her 
parents  were  solitary  and  unsocial  in  their  habits ;  and  I  found  no 
little  difficulty  in  recollecting  any  early  associate  or  intimate  friend, 
yet  living,  who  would  be  likely  to  take  a  deep  interest  in  the  fate 
of  poor  Nancy.  Though  I  had  not  seen  her  for  fifteen  years,  the 
impression,  such  as  she  had  made,  and  left  upon  my  memory, 
remained,  unabated  of  its  power  and  freshness.  Her  jet-black  hair 
and  eyes  were  contrasted  with  one  of  the  fairest  complexions  I  ever 
beheld.  The  rose  upon  her  cheek  was  not  that  universal  tint, 
which  speaks  of  health  and  many  years ;  but  the  concentrated,  and 
almost  hectical  flush,  which  seems  to  say  to  the  gentle  spirit  within  — 
Thy  light  bark  may  glide  securely  down  the  smooth  current  of  life, 
but  it  cannot  live  long  upon  its  troubled  waters. 

Occupied  with  such  reflections  as  these,  I  had  strolled,  almost 
unconsciously,  beyond  the  borders  of  the  busy  hamlet.  The  splash 
of  a  lonely  sheldrake,  as  she  rose  from  the  water,  roused  me  from 
my  reverie,  and  I  paused,  for  a  moment,  to  gaze  upon  me  little  lake, 
which  was  now  discernible  through  the  intervals  of  the  pine  forest. 
I  pretend  not  to  analyze  the  matter,  but  I  have  never,  after  long 
absence,  gazed  upon  the  hills  and  valleys,  with  the  same  interes  , 
as  upon  the  lakes  and  rivers  of  my  youth.  It  would  be  no  easy  task 
•.o  describe  the  various  emotions  of  pleasure  and  pain,  with  which 
1  now  surveyed  these  glassy  waters,  in  which  I  had  so  frequently 


NANCV   LE  BAIiON.  2S5 

sported  when  a  boy.  How  often  had  I  guided  my  little  shallop  ovei 
vheir  bosom,  upon  a  summer  holiday,  having  convertec  a  portion  of 
my  mother's  bed-linen  into  a  temporary  squaie-sail !  A  thousand 
associations  were  gathering  rapidly  about  me.  My  eye  fastened 
itself  upon  the  very  rock,  near  which,  at  the  age  of  ten,  I  caught 
my  first  pickerel ;  an  achievement,  which  gave  me  as  much 
importance,  at  the  time,  in  the  estimation  of  my  little  compeers, 
as  the  victory  of  Austerlitz  procured  for  Napoleon,  in  the  eyes 
of  all  Europe. —  The  whirlpool,  as  we  used  to  call  it,  was 
yot  visible.  This  was  near  the  centre  of  the  pond,  and  the 
tpot  was  indicated,  by  the  troubled  surface  of  the  waters.  There 
poor  Bob  Carleton  was  drowned.  If  Bob  was  not  a  poet,  our 
\illage  parson  was  mistaken.  There  was  an  ancient  oak  in  our 
village,  of  gigantic  size,  which  grew  near  the  common,  and  over 
shadowed  a  part  of  it.  It  was  the  property  of  a  private  individual, 
who  thought  proper  to  cut  it  down  for  fuel.  There  was  no  little 
popular  excitement  upon  the  occasion ;  and  the  conduct  of  the 
proprietor,  who  had  been  offered  a  very  considerable  sum  of  money 
to  spare  this  favorite  tree,  was  considered  equally  obstinate  and  sor 
did.  "  I  am  almost  of  Evelyn's  opinion,"  said  good  Parson  Riley, 
in  the  hearing  of  Bob  Carleton,  "  that,  sooner  or  later,  some  evil  will 
surely  happen  to  those,  who  cut  down  ancient  trees,  without  good 
provocation.  It  is  enough,  Master  Robert,  to  excite  the  indigna 
tion  of  your  muse."  —  Bob  Carleton  was  absent  from  our  sports 
for  two  or  three  days,  when  he  produced  his  lines  upon  the  fallen 
tree.  Bob  was  sixteen,  and  Parson  Riley  said  they  would  do  credit 
to  a  man  of  thirty  ;  and  Mr.  Brinley,  the  village  blacksmith,  who 
had  a  library  of  more  than  fifty  volumes,  asserted  that  these  lines 
were  nearly  equal  to  Bloomfield.  Poor  Bob  gave  me  a  copy  of 
these  verses  himself. 

THE  MIGHTY  FALLEN. 

Mighty  monarch !  peerless  heart ! 
Gallant,  o'er  thy  fellows,  thou ! 
All  majestic  as  thou  art, 

Yet  doomed,  alas !  to  bow ! 
No  more  to  brave  the  wintry  north ! 
No  more,  in  spring,  to  bourgeon  forth! 

Thy  giant  form,  by  pigmies  slain, 

Lies,  as  erst  it  fell ;  for  they, 

Who  stripped  thy  glories,  strive  in  vain 

To  bear  thy  trunk  away. 
I  knew  thy  doom,  and  sighed  to  save 
Those  verdant  honors  from  the  grave  I 


NANCY  LE  BARON. 

Sick  at  my  heart,  alone  I  sate, 

While,  echoing  far,  the  woodman's  bloWj 

Across  the  vale,  proclaimed  thy  fate, 

And  laid  thy  beauty  low. 
I  marked  those  echoes,  one  by  one, 
Until  the  ruthless  deed  was  done ! 

I  marked  that  fatal  pause,  and  then 
That  short,  confused,  and  fearful  cry, 
Which  seemed  the  shout  of  victory,  whea 

The  recreant  turn  to  fly  ; 
While  those,  who  mark  the  mighty  low, 
Shun  the  death-grapple  of  their  foe. 

When,  like  Colossus,  from  thy  throne, 
Cast  down  at  last,  and  earth,  and  air, 
And  ocean,  caught  thy  dying  groan, 

"  O,  what  a  fall  was  there !  " 
Thy  shivering  trunk,  thy  crashing  branch 
Seemed  some  enormous  avalanche ! 

Or  like  Missouri's  rapid  tide, 

Just  when  the  gathering  torrents,  first 

Spreading,  like  ocean  waste  and  wide, 

Their  feeble  barriers  burst ; 
And  o'er  the  planter's  house  and  home 
The  mighty  waters  rushing  come !  — 

Sordid  spirits !  selfish !  cold ! 
Mark  the  havoc  ye  have  made, 
Where  your  worthier  sires  of  old, 

Their  weary  limbs  have  laid, 
Sheltered  from  the  noonday  sun, 
When  the  mower's  toil  was  done ! 

Haply,  those,  from  whom  ye  sprung, 
Here,  on  love's  first  errand  came ! 
And  those,  to  whom  for  life  ye  clung, 

First  owned  a  kindred  flame  ! 
Here,  beneath  the  moonlit  boughs, 
Gave  true-love  knots  and  plighted  vow*  I 

Have  ye  marked  those  branches  green, 
Waving  in  the  silver  light ; 
Murmuring  breezes  heard  between, 

And  pearl-drops  glittering  bright ; 
While  the  broad  moon  sailed  on  high 
Midway  through  the  cloudless  sky? 

Have  ye  seen  this  wreck  forlorn 
Bourgeon  forth,  with  early  spring, 


NANCY  LE  BARON. 

In  the  flowing  robes  of  morn, 

Wreathed,  like  forest-king ; 
While  songsters  came  their  court  to  pay 
With  flourish,  glee,  and  roundelay  ? 

Have  ye  seen  the  champion's  height, 
Naked,  'mid  December's  sky, 
Like  gladiator,  stripped  for  fight, 

Whose  arms  aloft  defy  ; 
While,  rushing  on,  the  roaring  North 
Led  his  blasts  in  riot  forth  ? 

Have  ye  seen,  in  winter  day, 
The  giant,  with  his  armor  on, 
Mail  of  ice  o'er  doublet  gray ; 

Sparkling  in  the  sun, 
More  than  all  Golconda's  gems, 
Wreathed  in  Persia's  diadems  ? 

Have  ye  ?  cruel  and  unjust ! 
More  relentless  than  the  storm, 
Thus  to  level  with  the  dust, 

To  mar  so  fair  a  form ! 
V'or  paltry  gain  your  hands  to  raise 
Gainst  the  seer  of  ancient  days ! 

There  thou  li'st !  the  village  pride  ! 
Hadst  thou  spread  thy  branches,  when 
Tiber  rolls  his  sacred  tide, 

Rome  had  vowed  to  spare ! 
Classic  honors  to  thy  shade, 
Rome,  imperial  Rome  had  paid ! 

Till  the  Goth  and  Vandal  power 
Seized  the  sceptre,  stripped  the  crown 
From  Grandeur's  brows,  in  evil  hour, 

And  hurled  her  statues  down  ! 
So  thy  trunk  dishonored  stands, 
By  Gothic  hearts  and  Vandal  hands  I 

The  savcge  of  the  desert  spared, 
And  left  ihee  here  to  reign  alone  ; 
No  rival  then  thy  glory  shared, 
No  brother  neaT  thy  throne ! 
'Neath  thy  broad,  symmetric  shad* 
Indian  peace  and  war  were  made  I 

This,  perchance,  is  toly  gro^ni! 
Here  they  formed  their  belted  rJop 
Sagamores,  encircling  rouna 
Massasoit,  their  king, 


288  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

Smoked  the  pipe  of  peace,  and  swore 
Friendship  with  your  sires  of  yore ! 

Mighty  monarch !  peerless  heart ! 
Sank  thy  glories  are  forever ! 
These,  thy  leaves,  before  we  part, 

For  memory  let  me  sever ! 
These  at  least  shall  never  die, 
Till,  like  tWee,  thy  poet  lie. 

Poor  Bob  Carleton  !  he  was  very  much  beloved  by  his  s<hoo  - 
fellows,  and  there  was  not  a  dry  eye  among  us  all,  as  we  crowded 
round  the  shore,  on  the  following  morning,  when  his  lifeless  body 
was  found,  and  laid  upon  the  bank,  until  suitable  arrangements  could 
oe  made  for  its  removal. 

In  the  midst  of  these  painful  recollections,  I  broke  away  from  the 
scene  before  me,  and  pursued  my  path  to  old  Chloe's  cottage. 
Enoch  Runlet,  as  I  have  stated,  had  lived  many  years  in  my  father's 
family ;  and  it  was  not  a  matter  for  surprise,  that  he  should  recol 
lect  the  son  of  his  former  master ;  but  I  doubted  if  the  old  fortune 
teller  would  remember  me.  Time  and  my  fashionable  tailor  had 
wrought  an  essential  change  in  my  personal  appearance,  since  the 
period,  when  I  expanded  the  ungloved  hand  of  a  poor  plough-boy, 
for  the  inspection  of  this  sable  prophetess.  I  had  also  gained  flesh 
and  color.  I  soon  drew  near  the  cottage,  and  perceived,  at  the  dis 
tance  of  two  or  three  hundred  rods  beyond,  a  low  tenement,  which, 
from  Enoch's  description,  I  supposed  to  be  the  residence  of  poor 
Nancy  and  her  children.  I  tapped  once  or  twice  at  old  Chloe's 
cottage  door,  and,  receiving  no  answer,  pulled  the  bobbin,  and  en 
tered  the  apartment,  which  had  served  the  old  creature,  so  many 
years,  for  parlor,  chamber,  and  kitchen.  I  perceived  very  little 
change,  from  its  appearance  some  fifteen  or  twenty  years  before. 
No  one  was  within,  and  I  took  a  chair,  determined  to  wait,  till  the 
occupant  returned.  Though  Chloe  could  read,  she  was  never  at  all 
inclined  to  be  religious.  She  had  been  even  disposed,  at  times,  to 
scoff  at  the  professors  of  Christianity.  I  was  therefore  agreeably 
surprised  to  find  a  Bible  and  a  hymn-book  upon  her  table.  As  I 
took  up  the  former,  I  observed  her  spectacles,  which  had  been  .eft 
as  a  mark,  at  the  chapter  she  had  been  reading.  Turning  to  the 
title-page,  I  read  in  a  neat  hand,  "  The  gift  of  Nancy  Le  Baron,  to 
her  friend,  Chloe  Dalton."  —  Ah  !  thought  I,  it  was  always  thus; 
she  suffered  no  fair  occasion,  for  doing  good,  to  pass  unemployed. 
As  Enoch  stated,  she  has  probably  found  a  friend  in  this  poor  Afri 
can  ;  and  she  has  repaid  the  debt,  ten  thousand  fold,  by  feeding  her 


NANCY  LE  BARON.  289 

I 

famished  spirit  with  the  bread  of  eternal  life.  Ill-fated  girl !  whose 
amiable  and  interesting  qualities  might  have  made  a  Christian  and  a 
gentleman  supremely  happy,  doomed,  alas,  to  have  thy  gentle  spirit 
broken,  by  an  intemperate  brute  !'  compelled  to  call  a  drunkard  — 
kusband!  As  I  sat  silently,  in  the  midst  of  these  meditations,  my 
attention  was  arrested,  by  the  voices  of  children  :  I  listened  atten 
lively  —  there  were  more  than  one,  and  they  were  evidently  en 
deavoring  to  sing  in  concert.  As  the  sound  appeared  to  come  from 
the  rear  of  the  cottage,  I  stepped  out,  and,  walking  round  thectrnsf 
of  the  tenement,  I  came,  unobserved,  upon  the  little  group.  It 
consisted  of  three  barefooted  children,  a  boy,  who  appeared  about 
eight  years  of  age,  and  two  girls,  who  were  considerably  younger, 
of  whom  the  smaller  was  a  cripple.  They  were  very  meanly  clad, 
in  coarse  clothes,  with  numberless  patches. — Enoch  informed  mo 
that  poor  Nancy  had  three  children,  thought  I.  —  "  Come,"  cried 
the  boy,  "  come  and  sit  upon  the  log."  —  The  girls  accordingly  took 
their  seats  upon  a  fallen  pine,  in  which  position  their  faces  were 
presented  fairly  to  my  view.  I  had  no  doubt  they  were  Nancy's 
children.  The  elder  resembled  her,  hi  a  remarkable  manner.  I 
drew  back,  that  I  might  not  disturb  the  operations  of  these  young; 
choristers.  "  Come,"  said  the  boy,  —  clearing  his  little  pipes,  and 
raising  his  hand,  like  the  leader  of  a  choir,  he  set  the  tune,  and  the 
girls  promptly  joined  in.  They  sung  the  morning  hymn :  — 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 
Thy  daily  course  of  duty  run : 
Shake  off  dull  sloth,  and  early  rise 
To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

Their  voices  were  inexpressibly  sweet,  and  the  accuracy  of  their 
performance  was  remarkable.  Nancy  Le  Baron  had  been  the 
sweetest  chorister  of  our  village ;  and  I  have  often  been  struck  with 
the  extraordinary  contrast,  when  I  have  seen  her  slight  and  delicate 
figure,  in  the  gallery,  by  the  side  of  old  Major  Goggle,  the  butcher, 
who  was  our  head  singer,  and  the  fattest  man  in  the  county. — I 
have  heard  music  in  my  time.  —  I  have  listened  to  fair  damsels, 
pouring  forth  those  hour-long  strains  of  Beethoven,  amid  crowded 
saloons,  while  drowsy  dowagers  nodded  out  of  time.  I  have  never 
listened  to  the  notes  of  Paganini's  violin,  but  I  have  heard  the 
incomparable  Pucci  call  forth  the  varying  notes  of  King  David's 
harp,  till  I  could  almost  believe  myself  before  the  great  harper  of 
Israel.  I  have  opened  my  ears  to  imported  organists  and  hireling 
choirs,  while  they  have  performed  "To  the  Glory  of  God,"  for  so 
much  lucre,  per  diem.  But  I  would  not  exchange  the  vocal  concert 
of  these  three  little  children,  upon  the  pine  log,  for  them  all. — 

VOL.    i.  25 


290  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

"Well, "said  the  boy,  "it's  almost  time  for  granny  to  come." 
"  Yes,"  replied  the  elder  girl,  "  and,  maybe,  dear  mother  is  so 
much  better,  that  she  will  let  us  come  home,  if  we  don't  make  any 
noise." —  "  There  comes  granny  now,"  cried  the  little  cripple,  as 
si-e  jumped  from  the  log,  and,  seizing  her  crutch,  scampered  off 
towtrds  the  road.  Turning  my  face  in  that  direction,  I  immediately 
re«><rnized  Chloe  Dal  ton  :  her  general  appearance  was  unchanged. 
She  still  held  in  her  hand  her  old  oaken  staff  of  unusual  le.igth,  and 
walked  with  long  and  hasty  strides.  I  observed,  however,  as  she 
drew  near,  that  she  had  lost  somewhat  of  that  erect  carriage,  for 
which  she  had  been  remarkable.  Time  had  compelled  her  to  bow 
the  neck,  and  look  downward  upon  that  kindred  dust,  to  which  she 
must  ere  long  return.  The  children  greeted  her  with  strong  evi 
dences  of  attachment ;  and,  slackening  her  speed,  to  accommodate 
the  little  cripple,  whom  she  led  by  the  hand,  she  soon  arrived  with 
her  charge  at  the  cottage  door.  I  had  resumed  my  seat  within. — 
She  gazed  upon  my  features  intently,  for  a  moment; — but  it  was 
evident  that  she  did  not  recollect  me.  "  I  was  enjoying  a  walk  from 
tho  village,"  said  I,  "  this  fine  June  morning,  and  I  have  taken  the 
liberty  to  rest  myself,  for  a  short  time,  in  your  cottage."  —  "  You  're 
welcome,  sir,"  said  she.  —  She  then  placed  three  bowls  upon  the 
tit'ule,  with  a  pitcher  of  milk,  and  a  loaf  of  brown  bread.  "Here, 
children,"  said  she,  "  you  've  waited  long  for  your  breakfast."  They 
sat  round  the  board,  and  began  their  meal,  but  I  observed  that  the 
elder  girl  was  deeply  affected  ;  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears.  — 
"Don't  cry,  Nancy,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  maybe  you'll  see 
mother  to-morrow.  Dr.  Lankin  is  with  her  now,  and  I  hope  she  '11 
be  better."  A  deep  sigh  escaped  her,  as  she  uttered  these  words. 
"Whose  children  are  these?"  I  inquired,  after  they  had  finished 
'heir  breakfast,  and  gone  forth  to  play.  "  They  are  the  children," 
she  replied,  "  of  a  young  widow  lady,  who  lives  in  the  next  cottage, 
and  is  ill  of  a  brain  fever ;  and  I  have  taken  them  home  for  a  while, 
that  she  may  not  be  disturbed  by  their  noise."  —  "Are  not  these 
the  children  of  Nancy  Le  Baron?"  said  I.  —  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  she  ; 
"  did  you  ever  know  her,  or  the  old  folks?"  —  "  You  do  not  remem 
ber  me,  Chloe,"  I  replied  ;  "  I  am  Isaac  Lawder."  —  The  old  crea 
ture  sprang  from  her  seat,  and  seized  my  hand  with  great  earnest 
ness.  —  "  It 's  the  Lord,"  she  cried,  "  that  has  sent  you  here  ;  for  my 
eld  head  is  full  of  care  and  trouble.  Ah,  Mr.  Lawder,  if  you  had 
only  had  your  heart's  own  way,  poor  Nancy  would  not  have  come 
to  such  misery."  —  "  You  remember,"  said  I,  "  that  you  set  up  foi 
a  true  prophetess,  Chloe.  You  told  me,  that  I  should,  one  day  or 
another,  be  the  husband  of  Nancy  Le  Baron  ;  and,  when  I  told  you, 


NANCY    LE   BAIION.  291 

that  she  had  rejected  my  offer,  you  bade  me  wait  and  be  patient,  for 
the  time  would  surely  come.     And  what  do  you  say  now,  Chloe  ?" 

—  "  Ah,  Mr.  Lawder,"  she  replied,  "  those  were  foolish  times,  and 
wicked  times  too  they  were,  when  a  short-sighted  mortal,  like  me, 
pretended  to  look  into  futurity.     Nancy  might  yet  be  your  wife,  if 
you   were  saint  enough  to  match  her  in  a  better  world,  and  there 
were  such  things  as  marriages  there.     But,  in  this,  I  am  afraid  her 
course  is  nearly  finished.     It  is  wonderful   how  the  poor  thing  has 
borne  up  so  long  against  so  many   troubles."  — "  Pray  tell  me, 
Chloe,  how  she  came  to  marry  such  a  brutal,  drunken  creature."  — 
i{  Oh,  Mr.  Lawder,"  she  replied,  "  it 's  a  long  story,  and  I  'm  afraid 
it  would  prove  a  wearisome  one :  but  I  knew  you  loved  Nancy,  in 
her  better  days ;  and,  if  you  've  the  time  to  spare,  I  '11  give  you 
Borne  account  of   the  matter."  —  I  assured  her,  that  I  desired  not 
only  to  hear  the   account  of  Nancy's   sufferings,  but,    as   far  as 
possible,  to  relieve  them.  —  "  You  never  used  to  despise  the  poor, 
Mr.  Lawder,  when  you  was  a  stripling,"  said  old  Chloe;  "and 
now,  if  the  Lord  has  made  you  steward  over  many  things,  as  maybe 
he  has,  I  dare  say  you  '11  make  ready  to  render  a  true  account." 

—  "I  desire  to  know,  Chloe,"  said  I,  "  before  you  proceed,  how 
you  gathered  all  these  good  and  just  impressions.    I  well  remember 
the  time,  when  you  had  very  little  regard  for  serious  things  ;  and 
here  I  see  a  Bible  in  your  cottage;  and,  as  I  find  your  glasses 
between  the  sacred  pages,  I  suppose  your  eyes  and  your  thought* 
have  been  there."  —  "  Even  so,  Mr.  Lawder,"  she  replied  ;  "  the 
Lord  has  been  good  to  me,  and  sent  me  an  angel  of  mercy  to  lead 
me  to  the  clear  light  —  none  other  than  the  mother  of  these  poor 
children,  who,  I  'm  afraid,  will  be  left  alone,  before  long,  in  a  cold 
world.    It 's  now  fourteen  years,  since  I  had  my  fever  and  expected 
to  die.    Miss  Nancy  used  to  come  to  my  cottage  every  day,  and  she 
brought  me  a  hundred  little  comforts  ;  she  also  made  Dr.  Lankin 
visit  me;  and,  when,  at  length,  I  got  a  little  better,  she  gave  me 
that  greatest  comfort  of  all,  that  Bible.     She  made  me  read  a  chap 
ter  with  her  every  day.     At  first,  I  did  so,  because  I  was  desirous 
of  pleasing  her ;  but  it  was  not  long  before  I  began  to  do  the  same 
th.ng,  to  please   myself.     I  never  told   any  more  fortunes,    Mr. 
Lawder,  but  I  tried  to  find  out  my  own,  from  the  word  of  God.     I 
was  born  in  this  village.     Eight-and-seventy  limes  I  have  seen  these 
woods  cast  off  their   leaves  in  autumn,  and  those  banks  yonder 
covered  with  violets  in  spring.     For  sixty-four  years  of  my  life,  I 
lay  down  without  any  prayer,  and  got  up  without  any  thanksgiving 
It  is  a  little  less  than  fourteen  years,  since  I  bent  my  stubborn  old 
knees  in  prayer,  that  never  bent  before  in  the  service  of  the  Lord. 


§92  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

M.ISS  Nancy  knelt  at  my  side,  and,  with  an  angel's  voice,  thanked 
the  God  of  all  comfort  for  my  recovery.  She  prayed  often  tfith  me 
after  that,  and  taught  me  to  pray  for  myself.  When  I  feel  so  happy, 
as  I  always  do,  after  my  poor  prayers,  I  often  think  how  many 
years  I  have  lived  prayerless  and  comfortless  before.  Poor  Nancy 
was  a  happy,  light-hearted  girl  then,  Mr.  Lawder. — It's  about  ten 
years,  maybe  a  little  more,  since  Dr.  Darroch  first  came  to  the 
village.  He  came,  recommended  to  old  Squire  Le  Baron,  and,  in 
that  way  he  got  into  the  family  at  once,  and  was  there  a  good  part 
of  his  lime.  The  squire  nevei  liked  Dr.  Lankin,  and  was  willing 
enough  to  set  up  the  new  doctor.  The  squire  used  to  lecture  about 
temperance.  Dr.  Lankin  made  fun  of  his  lectures,  and  used  to  say, 
that  practice  without  preaching  was  better  than  preaching  without 
practice;  and  that  a  man,  who  preached  to  other  folks  about  total 
abstinence,  ought  never  to  wash  his  mouth  with  wine,  unless  as  a 
medicine.  This  made  the  squire  angry ;  and,  though  he  was  an 
unbeliever,  he  used  to  quote  Scripture,  and  swear  dreadfully  in 
favor  of  temperance. .  The  new  doctor  pretended  to  he  very  religious. 
He  was  a  teacher  with  Miss  Nancy  in  the  Sabbath  school ;  and  he 
and  the  squire  disagreed,  of  course,  about  religion  ;  but  they  agreed 
perfectly  about  temperance.  They  were  both  members  of  the 
society,  and  used  to  sit  down  very  often  after  dinner,  and  drink 
their  wine,  by  the  hour  together,  and  get  dreadfully  worked  up  in 
favor  of  the  temperance  society.  —  The  squire  was  then  thought  to 
be  amazing  rich.  He  used,  at  that  time,  to  go  very  often  to  the 
city,  to  attend  to  his  business  there ;  for  he  was  concerned  largely 
in  a  number  of  new  corporations.  People  thought  him  the  wea  Ithi- 
est  man  in  the  village.  They  said  he  owned  more  than  a  third  part 
of  the  stock,  in  what  they  called  the  Elastic  Beeswax  Company. 
Then  there  was  a  plan  for  tanning  shoe-leather  by  steam ;  the  squire 
ov/ned  a  part  of  that.  There  was  no  end  to  his  speculating  and 
trading.  The  new  doctor  proposed  to  the  squire  to  take  an  interest 
in  the  great  pill-machine,  which  made  a  million  of  pills  in  a  minute. 
The  squire  made  nothing  of  that,  but  bought  up  the  whole  concern. 
M:my  folks  thought  there  was  no  end  to  the  squire's  money.  When 
anybody  spoke  of  these  speculations  to  Dr.  Lankin,  he  never 
uttered  but  one  word,  and  that  was  moonshine.  —  This  Dr.  Darroch 
won  Miss  Nancy's  affections.  He  was  a  good-looking  man,  and, 
no  doubt,  took  with  her  mightily,  because  of  his  attention  to  the 
Sabbath  school,  which  was  poor  Nancy's  hobby,  Mr.  Lawder.  By 
the  squire's  means,  he  had  got  a  good  deal  of  practice,  though  folks 
did  n't  seem  to  think  much  of  his  skill.  But  pretty  near  one  half 
the  people  owed  the  squire  money,  and  the  rest  were  afraid  of 


NANCY  LE  BARON.  293 

jetting  his  ill-will.  'T  was  soon  known,  that  the  doctor  was  to  be 
married  to  Miss  Nancy;  and,  when  he  felt  pretty  sure  of  her,  he 
began  to  do  a  good  deal  less  doctoring.  She  was  the  squire's  only 
child,  you  know,  and  the  doctor  was  thought  to  be  a  terrible  lucky 
man.  They  had  n't  been  married  two  months,  before  the  squire's 
affairs  began  to  trouble  him  very  badly.  There  was  a  dreadful 
pressure  for  money,  they  said ;  and  he  could  n't  pay  his  notes.  The 
treasurer  of  the  Steam  Tannery  failed,  and  he  had  been  supposed 
to  be  so  very  rich,  that  they  had  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  ask 
any  bonds  of  him.  The  Elastic  Beeswax  Company  found,  after 
laying  out  a  deal  of  money,  that  there  was  no  demand,  of  any  con 
sequence,  for  their  wax.  The  folks,  that  managed  the  Company, 
had  sent  off  into  all  parts  of  the  country  a  monstrous  sight  of  the 
elastic  beeswax,  to  be  sold  ;  and  they  were  so  sure  of  selling  it,  that 
they  made  a  grand  dividend,  and  Dr.  Lankin  said  they  borrowed 
the  money  of  the  banks  to  pay  it  with.  The  squire  was  full  of  cash 
after  the  dividend.  He  sold  ten  shares  of  the  stock  to  poor  Billy 
Buckram,  the  tailor,  at  an  awful  profit,  they  said.  Billy  sold  every 
thing  off,  goose,  shears,  and  all,  to  buy  the  squire's  stock;  and 
resolved  to  live  upon  his  income.  Not  long  after  the  dividend, 
great  lots  of  the  elastic  beeswax  came  back.  Nobody  wanted  it. 
The  concern  came  to  nothing,  and  poor  Billy  Buckram  lost  his 
senses.  As  for  the  pill-machine,  it  worked,  everybody  agreed,  a 
great  deal  better,  and  turned  out  more  pills  than  they  expected  ;  but 
there  were  so  few  patients  to  take  them,  that  the  machine  was  given 
up  for  a  bad  job. 

"  The  squire  went  on,  from  bad  to  worse,  and  the  doctor  followed 
Then  Nancy's  troubles  began.  Everybody  soon  saw,  that  Darrocb 
had  married  the  poor  girl  for  her  money.  As  wine  was  costly,  the 
squire  lectured  no  more  for  the  temperance  society,  but  soon  took  to 
brandy.  So  did  the  doctor.  They  quarrelled.  The  doctor  called 
the  squire  a  liar  and  a  cheat ;  and  the  squire  called  the  doctor  a 
quack  and  a  villain.  —  At  last  they  both  became  common  drunkards, 
and  Nancy's  heart  was  almost  broken.  When  her  father  and 
mother  were  both  dead,  this  vile  man  took  no  pains  to  conceal  his 
abuse  of  her.  There  was  no  kith  nor  kin  of  the  family  then  living, 
far  nor  near.  Darroch  knew  this  well  enough,  and  he  treated  her 
like  a  dog.  He  run  down  to  heel  very  quick.  Nobody  employed 
him,  and  nobody  trusted  him.  Brandy  and  gin  soon  got  to  be  too 
dear  for  him,  and,  whenever  he  could  get  it,  he  was  very  glad  to 
get  drunk  on  rum.  He  sold  the  furniture  by  piecemeal;  and,  when 
he  had  drunk  up  the  chairs  and  tables,  he  stole  her  clothes  and  sold 
them.  I  've  seen  him  drag  her  about  the  room  by  her  hair ;  and, 

VOL.    i.  25* 


284  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

if  I  had  n't  heard  her  screams  as  I  passed  by,  and  gone  in  to  help 
her,  like  enough  he  would  have  killed  her.  When  he  came  home, 
drunk  and  raving,  she  used  to  take  her  children  and  fly  to  my 
cottage.  One  night,  she  spent  the  chief  part  of  it  in  the  wood,  with 
her  little  ones,  when  I  was  absent,  and  had  fastened  up  my  house 
He  broke  the  leg  of  the  youngest  child,  that  you  saw  with  a  crutch, 
by  kicking  it  about  the  room.  This  poor  woman,  Mr.  Lawder,  has 
shown  me  her  body,  covered  with  black  and  blue  spots,  where  he 
has  kicked,  and  beat,  and  pinched  her.  Once,  when  she  had  a 
sharp  pair,  in  the  stomach,  he  gave  her  a  wine-glass  of  laudanum, 
and  made  her  swallow  it,  telling  her  it  was  red  lavender.  It  nearly 
destroyed  her,  and  would  have  put  the  poor  thing  out  of  misery,  if 
she  had  not,  directly  after,  discovered  what  she  had  swallowed,  and 
taken  a  powerful  emetic.  The  story  got  abroad,  and  Darroch  would 
have  been  tarred  and  feathered,  if  there  had  been  a  pailful  of  tar  in 
the  village;  though  he  solemnly  swore  he  did  n't  mean  to  kill  her. 
At  last,  he  broke  his  neck,  and  Beelzebub  was  chief  mourner.  But, 
for  all  this,  Mr.  Lawder,  before  he  took  to  liquor  in  such  a  way,  he 
was  as  civil  and  obliging,  as  any  other  man.  Liquor  changed  him 
into  a  brute  beast.  After  his  death,  which  took  place  a  little  over 
two  years  ago,  she  came  to  live  in  the  cottage  yonder ;  and,  with  the 
aid  of  her  children,  and  such  little  assistance  as  I  could  give  her, 
she  has  been  able  to  rub  along,  poor  creature.  Deacon  Mixer,  who 
is  chairman  of  the  selectmen,  has  often  said  they  ought  all  to 
be  sent  to  the  poor-house.  But  I  told  him  last  town-meeting  day, 
that  they  would  n't  go  there  while  my  two  old  hands  could  keep  'em 
out.  I  told  him  so,  afore  all  the  folks,  on  the  steps  of  the  town- 
house  ;  and  Enoch  Runlet,  that  used  to  work  for  your  father,  threw 
up  his  hat,  and  said  I  ought  to  have  three  cheers  for  it.  —  I  can  work 
hard  yet,  old  as  I  am,  and  I've  laid  by  a  trifle,  enough  to  bury  my 
bones,  at  least,  Mr.  Lawder." 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  sentence,  the  elder  girl  ran  into  the  room, 
quite  out  of  breath  ;  —  "  Granny,"  said  she,  as  soon  as  she  could 
speak,  "you  must  go  to  mother  directly."  —  "  I  hope,  Nancy," 
said  old  Chloe,  "  that  you  have  not  been  home  to  disturb  your  sick 
mother."  —  "  No,  granny,"  the  child  replied,  "  I  only  went  and  sat 
down  outside  the  cottage  to  listen.  Mother  is  a  great  deal  better,  1 
know  she  is.  I  heard  her  sing  sweetly,  first  one  tune  and  then 
another.  Why,  granny,  she  sang  a  part  of  Auld  Lang  Syne,  that 
you  've  heard  her  sing  so  often,  and  then  a  little  of  the  Sicilian 
Hymn.  Then,  granny,  you  can't  tell  how  merry  she  was;  she 
laughed  out  loud;  then  she  cried  out  —  'Oh,  husband,  spare  my 
life  ;  don't  kill  the  poor  children  ;'  and  then  she  'd  laugh  and  be  so 


NANCY    LE  BARON. 
V  -A- 


NANCY  LE  BARON  295 

merry,  granny.  I  heard  Dr.  Lankin  trying  to  stop  her.  I  wondei 
what  he  wants  to  prevent  her  from  being  happy  for.  He  came  to 
the  door,  and  looked  ahout,  as  though  he  wanted  to  see  somebody ; 
and,  when  he  saw  me,  he  told  me  to  run  and  tell  you  to  come  there 
as  soon  as  you  could."  —  "  Poor  child  !"  said  Chloe,  aside,  as  she 
put  on  her  bonnet,  and,  taking  her  tall  staff,  beckoned  me  to  the 
door.  I  followed  a  few  steps  from  the  cottage.  —  "  Will  you  watch 
over^these  children,"  said  she,  "  till  my  return?  I  am  afraid  it's 
all  over  with  her.  Dr.  Lankin  said  she  could  not  survive,  unless 
she  s\ept." —  I  assured  her,  that  I  would  remain  with  the  children  ; 
and  she  strode  away,  with  the  vigor  of  youth,  towards  the  humble 
dwelling  of  her  sick  friend.  I  returned  to  the  cottage,  where  the 
group  had  collected,  to  hear  little  Nancy's  account  of  their  mother. 
Her  favorable  report  had  inspired  them  with  great  glee.  It  would 
have  been  impossible  to  contemplate  these  innocent,  unsuspecting 
children,  and  contrast  their  high  hopes,  with  that  dreadful  reality, 
which  was  probably  near  at  hand,  without  a  feeling  of  deep  pity, 
had  they  been  the  offspring  of  strangers.  I  had  known  their  mother 
from  her  earliest  infancy.  —  I  had  loved  her.  when  the  impulses  of 
my  heart  were  fresh  and  strong,  —  I  had  never  loved  another.  As 
I  gazed  upon  these  little  ones,  and  more  than  imagined,  that,  ere 
long,  they  would  be  the  motherless  children  of  that  ill-fated  girl,  my 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  I  turned  to  the  window  to  conceal  them  — 
for  why  should  I  endeavor  to  prepare  these  little  ones  for  that  ter 
rible  blow,  whose  force  would  not  be  diminished,  the  tithe  of  a  hair, 
by  any  preparation  of  mine  ;  and  which  —  for  I  had  some  faint  hope 
still  —  might  yet  be  withheld  through  the  infinite  mercy  of  God  ?  — 
"Let's  go,  Susan,"  said  the  elder  sister  to  the  younger,  "  and 
gather  some  violets  for  mother."  —  "I  wish,"  cried  Susan,  "  the 
wild  strawberries  were  ripe,  mother  is  so  fond  of  them."  —  "  My 
dear  children,"  said  I,  "  Chloe  will  not  be  pleased  to  have  you  go 
far  from  the  cottage."  —  "  Oh,  sir,"  said  the  little  boy,  "  it 's  only  a 
short  way  ;  the  violets  are  plenty  on  the  bank  there."  —  "  Well,"  said 
I,  •'  we  will  all  go  together."  —  The  mournful  spirit  gathers  addi 
tional  sadness  from  the  untimely  gayety  of  others.  I  could  scarcely 
suppress  my  emotion,  while  I  surveyed  these  happy  children,  sport 
ing  upon  the  flowery  bank,  and  collecting  bunches  of  violets  for 
their  mother.  —  Ah,  thought  I,  never,  perhaps,  to  gratify  her 
earthly  sense,  but  to  wither  on  her  grave  !  —  They  grew  weary  of 
tiieir  pastime.  "It's  almost  noon,"  said  the  little  boy,  looking  up 
at  the  sun  ;  "  I  wonder  Chloe  does  not  come  back."  I  drew  them 
together,  and  told  them  some  interesting  stories.  —  In  a  few 
moments,  little  Nancy  sprang  up,  exclaiming,  that  Dr.  Lankin  waf 


296  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

coming.  I  saw,  on  horseback,  advancing  along  the  road,  the  snme 
person,  whom  I  had  seen  in  Deacon  Mixer's  bar-room.  The  chil 
dren  would  have  run  to  inquire  of  him  after  their  mother,  but  I  bade 
them  remain  upon  the  bank,  while  I  went  forward^to  meet  him 
alone.  "Pray,  sir,"  I  inquired,  "how  is  the  poor  woman  in  the 
next  cottage?"  —  "  She  's  dead,  sir,  —  they  're  laying  her  out,  sir, 
—  a  very  fine  day,  sir."  —  And  forward  went  the  busy  man,  to 
whom  death  was  an  every-day  affair.  He  troubled  not  his  head 
with  matters,  that  were  not  connected  with  his  profession.  It  was 
his  office  to  battle  with  the  king  of  terrors ;  and,  in  this  brief  man 
ner,  to  convey  to  every  inquirer  the  tidings  of  death  or  life,  defeat 
or  victory.  —  My  heart  was  full,  as  I  returned  to  these  unconscious 
orphans.  I  could  not  muster  resolution  to  acquaint  them  with  the 
fatal  result.  I  resolved,  if  possible,  to  hold  them  in  suspense,  till  old 
Chloe's  return.  —  "  May  I  carry  my  flowers  to  mother  now,  sir?" 
said  little  Susan.  —  "Not  now,  my  dear  child,"  I  replied. — I 
could  not,  at  that  moment,  have  articulated  another  word.  — "  Is 
dear  mother  any  worse,  sir?"  inquired  her  brother.  —  "  Chloe  will 
be  here  soon,"  I  replied  ;  "  and  then  we  shall  know  all." 

An  hour  or  more  had  elapsed,  when  I  saw  old  Chloe,  coming 
homeward.  Her  whole  manner  was  changed.  She  walked  very 
slowly,  with  her  face  toward  the  ground.  The  children  ran  to  meet 
her.  I  did  not  restrain  them,  but  remained  seated  on  the  bank. 
When  they  had  reached  the  spot,  where  she  was,  the  good  old  crea 
ture  threw  down  her  staff,  took  the  little  cripple  in  her  arms,  and 
bathed  it  with  her  tears.  She,  no  doubt,  at  the  same  moment, 
announced  the  solemn  tidings  ;  for  the  elder  sister  clasped  her  hands 
together,  and  I  distinctly  heard  her  cries,  as  she  sat  down  upon  a 
stone,  at  the  road-side.  The  boy  ran  back  to  the  place  where  I  sat, 
and  with  a  wildness,  almost  alarming,  exclaimed,  "  My  mother's 
dead!"  In  an  instant  after,  as  I  took  him  in  my  arms,  he  cried, 
"  My  poor  dear  mother,"  and  burst  forth  in  a  torrent  of  grief.  — 1 
uttered  not  a  syllable,  but  pressed  the  poor  child  closely  to  my 
bosom.  The  bitter  anguish  of  this  orphan  boy  would  have  smitten 
a  heart  of  adamant,  till  the  waters  flowed.  —  At  length  he  became 
rather  more  composed.  His  sobs  would,  now  and  then,  be  inter 
rupted  with  half-uttered  ejaculations — "My  poor  mother!"  — 
"  Poor,  dear  sisters  !"  —  "  What  shall  we  do  now?"  —  "  God  will 
provide  for  you  and  your  sisters,  my  poor  boy,"  said  I;  "but  I 
perceive,  that  Chloe  and  they  have  gone  into  the  cottage.  Let  us 
go  to  them."  —  I  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  thither.  I  look 
my  seat,  and  placed  the  boy  in  my  lap,  while  old  Chloe  held  the 
girls  upon  her  knees,  with  an  expression  of  the  deepest  sorrow. 


NANCY  LE  BARON.  297 

After  some  time,  I  asked  Chloe  if  I  could  be  of  any  further  ser 
vice  to  her,  or  the  children,  that  day.  She  shook  her  head,  and 
told  me  that  a  clever  man,  a  carpenter,  lived  half  a  mile  beyond  ; 
and  that  he  would  attend  to  such  things  as  were  necessary.  I  took 
her  by  the  hand,  and,  kissing  these  poor  orphans,  promised  to  see 
them  the  next  day,  and  departed. 

I  returned  to  my  lodgings  at  the  inn,  and  retired  to  my  chamber, 
deeply  solemnized  by  the  scene,  through  which  I  had  passed.  I 
had  never  contemplated  a  case,  in  which  cause  and  effect  were  more 
intelligibly  related  to  each  other.  The  destruction  of  this  young 
physician  ;  the  long  series  of  sufferings  which  his  wife,  once  a  lovely 
and  delicate  girl,  had  undergone  ;  her  extreme  poverty,  and  sickness, 
and  delirium,  and  death,  and  the  forlorn  condition  of  these  hapless 
orphans  were  plain  matters  of  fact.  Intemperance,  on  the  part  of 
the  husband,  was  the  manifest  cause  of  them  all. — I  was  too  sol 
emnly  and  painfully  affected,  to  go  from  my  lodgings,  during  the 
remainder  of  the  day. — On  the  following  morning,  I  went  once 
more  to  Chloe's  cottage :  I  arrived  at  an  early  hour :  when  1 
raised  the  latch,  she  was  on  her  knees,  with  the  children  around 
her.  I  immediately  closed  the  door,  and  dropped  upon  my  own,  by 
the  bed-side,  till  she  had  finished  her  supplication  to  the  throne  of 
grace.  I  have  certainly  listened  to  prayers,  far  more  eloquent  than 
old  Chloe's  ;  but  never  to  a  more  natural  and  touching  appeal  to  the 
Father  of  the  fatherless.  —  The  children  appeared  much  gratified  to 
see  me  again,  as  a  partner  in  their  affliction.  —  Chloe  informed  me, 
that  the  funeral  would  take  place  on  the  next  day,  at  one  o'clock, 
the  usual  village  hour,  upon  such  occasions ;  and  that  Parson 
McWhistler  would  make  the  prayer.  I  perceived,  that  she  had  sev 
eral  little  arrangements  to  make  for  herself  and  the  children,  in  con 
nection  with  the  solemnities  of  the  following  afternoon,  and  I  forbore 
to  occupy  her  time  any  further.  I  talked  to  the  little  orphans,  for 
a  short  time,  urging  upon  their  young  minds,  such  matters,  as  were 
adapted  to  their  situation  and  their  years.  "  Be  good  children," 
said  I,  at  parting;  "  and  God  will  surely  be  a  father  to  you,"  — 
"  I  know  he  will,"  said  little  Susan,  "  for  dear  mother  told  me 
so." 

As  I  was  sitting  at  the  open  window  of  my  chamber,  on  the  fo. 
lowing  day,  waiting  for  the  appointed  hour,  I  was  attracted   by  the 
sound  of  voices  beneath ;  one  of  which  was  somewhat  familiar  to 
my  ear.     I  looked  forth,  and  saw  Enoch  Runlet,  in  conversation 
with  the  inn-keeper. — "  Well,  Enoch,"  said  the  deacon,  "  what 
are  you  shooling  after   now,  with  your  bettermost  clothes  on?' 
— "  Why,  deacon,  I  'm    a-going  to  Nancy  Darroch's  funeral  ' 


29S  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

—  "Ha,  ha!     Why,   Enoch,"  the  deacon  replied,  "you'll  get 
nothing  there,   I   reckon,  stronger  than  cold  water."  —  "Never 
mind,"  rejoined  Enoch  ;  "  maysobe,  I  '11  make  it  up,  when  I  have 
the  pleasure  of  coming  to  yours,  Deacon  Mixer." —  "  You  're  an 
ungodly  dog,"  rejoined  the  deacon,  with  no  little  agitation  in  his 
countenance  ;  for  there  are  not  many  rum-selling  deacons,  to  whom 
the  idea  of  their  last,  great  change   is   altogether  agreeable. — 
"  Come  now,  deacon,"  said  Enoch,  "don't  be  angry  with  a  poor 
fellow ;  I  should  really  like  a  little  something  to  whet  my  whistle 
with."     At  the  same  moment  he  drew  a  piece  of  silver  from  his 
pocket  —  it  was  the  identical  dollar,  —  I  had  not  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt  of  it,  —  that  I  had  given  him,  upon  condition  that  he  should 
not  exchange  it  for  liquor.     The  exhibition  of  a  monarch's  signet- 
ring  never  produced  a  more  instantaneous  effect,  when  unexpectedly 
presented  before  the  eyes  of  his  astonished  vassals,  than  was  mani 
fested  by  good  Deacon  Mixer,  at  the  sight  of  Enoch's  bright  dollar. 

—  "I  am  not  angry,  Mr.  Runlet,"  said  he,  "  not  at  all,  not  at  all ; 
you  have  an  odd  way,  you  know,  that  takes  a  body  rather  suddenly, 
to  be  sure;  walk  in,  Mr.  Runlet,"  —  stepping  back  within  the  door 
— "  what '11  ye  please  to  take?"  —  Enoch  stood  grinning  at   the 
deacon,  with  an  expression  of  frolicsome  contempt,  as  he  slowly  put 
back  the  dollar  into  his  pocket.  —  "Dear  Deacon  Mixer,"  said  he, 
"  with  your  leave,  I  '11  take  a  draught  of  cold  water  out  of  a  clean 
tumbler,  and  as  all  yours  are  rummy,  I  can  suit  myself  best  else 
where."     He  then  turned  upon  his  heel,  with  a  chuckling  laugh, 
and  walked  off  in  the  direction  of  Chloe's  cottage.     I  was  agreeably 
surprised  to  find  that  my  dollar  was  still  in  his  possession. 

He  had  not  been  gone  many  minutes,  before  the  village  bell  sent 
forth  its  short,  sharp  sound.  —  I  walked  slowly  forward,  on  my  way 
to  the  house  of  mourning.  When  I  arrived  at  Chloe's  cottage,  it 
was  closed,  and  the  door  was  fastened.  I  moved  onward,  and  soon 
came  to  the  late  habitation  of  poor  Nancy,  whose  mortal  remains 
were  about  to  be  consigned  thus  prematurely  to  the  grave.  As  I 
approached  the  cottage,  I  heard  the  voices  of  several  singers  ;  and 
there  were  some  persons  standing  uncovered  around  the  door.  Among 
them  I  recognized  Enoch  Runlet.  His  deportment  appeared  so 
grave  and  becoming,  that  I  ventured  to  inquire  of  him,  if  it  were 
usual  to  have  singing  at  funerals.  He  replied,  in  a  whisper,  that  it 
was  not  very  common,  and  that  these  singers  were  Miss  Nancy's 
Sunday  scholars,  whom  she  used  to  instruct,  until  her  sickness  pre 
vented  her  from  going  to  meeting  any  more.  —  He  had  scarcely 
replied,  wh^n  old  Chloe  came  to  the  door.  —  "I  have  been  expect 
ing  you,"  said  she  ;  "  though  the  room  is  quite  full,  I  have  kept  a 


NANC1   LE  BARON.  299 

seat  for  you."  —  I  entered  softly,  and  sat  down  among  the  group. 
There  were  about  fourteen  boys  and  girls,  who  were  occupying  the 
time,  before  the  clergyman's  arrival,  in  singing  appropriate  hymns, 
under  the  direction  of  a  grave  young  man,  who,  as  I  was  afterwards 
informed,  had  taken  charge  of  Nancy's  scholars,  in  addition  to  his 
own  class,  during  her  severe  illness.  There  was  something  abso 
lutely  overpowering  in  the  scene  around  me.  I  could  scarcely  com 
mand  my  feelings,  as  I  listened  to  the  notes  of  this  infant  choir,  at 
the  obsequies  of  one,  who,  if  purity  of  life  and  the  love  of  God  could 
furnish  wings  for  a  heavenly  flight,  had  gone  to  touch  an  unearthly 
harp,  before  the  throne  of  Jehovah.  —  In  the  centre  of  this  little 
apartment,  upon  a  small  table,  was  a  coffin  of  stained  pine ;  at  its 
head  sat  old  Chloe,  with  Susan  on  her  lap ;  upon  each  side  of  her 
were  the  two  other  children.  They  were  tidily  dressed  in  their 
Sabbath  apparel.  —  We  had  waited  long  for  the  minister.  At 
length,  as  the  afternoon  was  waning  away,  Chloe  evidently  became 
uneasy ;  and  finally  despatched  a  messenger  to  the  village.  When 
the  messenger  returned,  he  stated  that  Parson  Me  Whistler  was  very 
sorry ;  —  he  had  forgot  all  about  it,  and  was  just  then  stepping  into 
his  chaise  to  attend  the  wedding  of  Captain  Faddle's  daughter,  in 
the  next  town.  —  There  was  a  solemn  pause,  upon  the  announce 
ment  of  this  answer.  It  was  finally  interrupted  by  old  Chloe. 
"  The  good  book  tells  us,"  said  she,  "  that  it 's  better  to  go  to  the 
house  of  mourning  than  to  the  house  of  feasting.  Tell  me,"  she 
continued,  with  a  trembling  voice,  and  quivering  lip,  "  if  the  body 
of  this  dear  saint  shall  go  into  the  grave  without  a  prayer!"  —  The 
young  man,  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  rose  from  his  chair,  and,  ad 
vancing  to  the  foot  of  the  coffin,  lifted  his  hands  and  his  eyes  to 
heaven  ;  and,  if  his  fervent  supplications  reached  not  the  throne  of 
grace,  they  penetrated  the  hearts,  and  drew  forth  the  tears  of  every 
listener:  at  the  close,  he  could  scarcely  articulate,  for  his  own. 

For  a  short  time  we  sat  in  silence  ;  at  length,  the  sexton  came  in, 
to  perform  his  last  office.  The  coffin  was  of  the  most  inexpensive 
kind  ;  it  was  without  any  tablet  to  designate  the  tenant  within  ;  and 
its  cover  was  of  one  entire  piece,  which  had  been  slid  down  from  off 
the  face,  that  all,  who  were  so  disposed,  might  take  a  parting  look 
of  the  deceased  The  sexton,  with  the  assistance  of  the  carpenter, 
was  proceeding  to  adjust  the  cover,  and  secure  it  with  common  nails, 
a  process  not  unusual  in  some  of  our  remote  villages,  where,  even 
upon  such  occasions  as  these,  the  superior  cost  of  a  screw  is  taken 
into  consideration,  at  the  funerals  of  the  poor.  "  Stop,"  said  old 
Chloe,  as  she  raised  little  Susan  in  her  arms.  The  poor  child  took 
its  last  look,  and  dropped  a  tc.ir  upon  the  cold  forehead  ot  its  mctker 


800  NANCY  LE  BARON. 

and  placed  upon  her  bosom  the  bunch  of  violets,  which  she  had 
gathered,  with  so  light  a  heart,  but  yesterday.  Little  Nancy  and 
her  brother  followed  the  example,  and  they  deposited  thoir  bunches 
of  flowers  within  the  coffin.  —  During  these  moments.  I  had  gazed 
upon  the  features  of  the  dead.  There  was  not  enough,  amid  the 
wreck,  to  remind  me  of  the  lovely  fabric,  that  I  once  admired.  The 
forehead,  sadly  checkered,  but  less  by  time  than  care,  the  cheek, 
hollow  and  pale,  the  sunken  eye,  the  bloodless  lip,  and  the  hair, 
prematurely  gray,  had  no  part  nor  lot,  among  my  vivid  recollections 
of  Nar,;y  Le  Baron. 

The  painful  process  was  at  last  performed,  and  the  sound  of  the 
death-hammer  —  for  such  it  may  well  be  called — had  ceased. — 
While  the  sounds  were  ringing  in  my  ears,  I  could  not  expel  from 
my  mind  the  recollection,  that,  among  the  inhabitants  of  Padang, 
intoxicating  drink  is  called  Pakoe,  which,  in  the  language  of  the 
Malays,  means  a  nail,  because,  as  they  affirm,  it  drives  one  more 
nail  into  their  coffins.*  It  may  be  truly  said,  that  every  nail  was 
driven  into  the  coffin  of  this  ill-fated  woman,  by  the  demon  of  in 
temperance,  whose  vicegerent  was  a  degraded,  drunken  husband. 

The  body  was  now  placed  upon  the  bier.  There  was  not  a  fol 
lower,  save  her  children,  who  claimed  a  drop  of  kindred  blood  with 
the  deceased.  No  other  herald  marshalled  the  array  than  common 
sense,  which  well  enough  determines  the  fitness  of  things.  Old 
Chloe  wept  next  the  body,  with  the  two  elder  children  ;  I  led  little 
Susan  by  the  hand ;  the  Sabbath  scholars  came  next,  with  their 
leader,  whose  admirable  prayer  I  never  have  forgotten,  and  trust  I 
never  shall  forget.  The  remainder  fell  in,  according  to  their  incli 
nations.  —  The  body  was  committed  to  the  ground,  and  I  was  about 
returning  with  old  Chloe  and  the  children,  when  I  overtook  Enoch 
Runlet,  who  was  rubbing  his  eyes  with  the  cuff  of  his  coat.  "  This 
is  too  tough  for  me,  Mr.  Lawder,"  said  he;  "all  this  here  misery 
comes  of  rum.  I'll  have  no  more  to  do  with  it." 

After  I  had  left  the  grave,  I  observed  the  members  of  the  Sab 
bath  school,  and  several  other  persons,  gathering  together  near  the 
grave-yard.  Old  Chloe  informed  me  the  next  morning,  that  they 
had  made  a  collection  for  the  little  orphans.  "  Enoch  Runlet,"  said 
she,  "  gave  more  than  any  other ;  he  gave  a  bright  silver  dollar." 

For  the  reader's  gratification,  it  may  be  proper  to  state,  that  these 
little  children  have  found  friends,  abundantly  able  and  willing  to 
shield  them  from  want,  and  to  guide  them  in  the  paths  of  virtue  and 
religion.  —  About  a  year  after  this  event,  old  Chloe  sunk  to  rest 

*  Eighth  Report  American  Temperance  Society,  p.  34. 


NANCY  Lb  BAROJ.  301 

requesting,  with  her  last  breath,  that  she  might  be  buried  by  the 
side  of  her  rriend.  "  There  's  difference  of  color,"  she  used  to  say, 
"  in  this  world,  but  I  don't  believe  there  '11  be  any  in  the  resurrec 
tion." 

Deacon  Mixer  had  frequently  admonished  Enoch  Runlet,  that  he 
would  die  of  the  liver  complaint.  The  deacon  was  mistaken  ;  he 
died  of  that  very  complaint  himself,  leaving  his  wife  and  two  sons 
exceedingly  poor,  and  all  three  addicted  to  spirit.  Enoch  is  yet 
living ;  his  reformation  appears  to  be  complete  ;  he  works  hard  and 
lays  up  money ;  and  his  generous  contribution,  for  the  benefit  of 
poor  Nancy's  children,  has  obtained  for  him  a  good  name,  which  is 
better  than  riches. 

The  energies  of  man  can  never  be  more  wisely  or  beneficially 
employed,  than  for  the  construction  of  beacons,  upon  those  points  of 
danger,  where  sunken  ledges  lie  concealed,  arid  upon  which  many 
have  ignorantly  rushed,  as  upon  certain  destruction.  It  is  designed, 
by  this  simple  story,  to  hang  out  a  light  for  the  guidance  of  those, 
who  are  just  embarking  upon  the  voyage  of  life.  If,  by  the  perusal 
of  this  little  work,  one  alone  of  my  fair  readers  shall  be  effectually 
preserved  from  all  that  complicated  wretchedness,  which  is  the 
inevitable  lot  of  her,  who  weds  an  intemperate  man,  I  shall  not 
regret  the  time,  as  lost,  which  I  ha  fe  devoted  to  the  narrative  of 
Nancy  Le  Baron. 

TOL.    I.  SW 


THE 


TEMPERANCE  TALES, 


BY 

LUCIUS  M.   SARGENT. 


Uum  vim  vis  penetravit, 

Consequitur  gravitas  membrorum,  praepediurwur 
Crura  vaccillanti,  tardescit  lingua,  madet  mens. 
Nant  oculi,  clamor,  singultus,  jurgia  gliscunt. 

LUCRETIUS,  Lib.  iii.  Ver.  47ft 


\  C  LUME    TWO. 


SPRINGFIELD,  MASS. : 
W.   J.  HOLLAND    &    CO. 

1873. 


Entered  accordiE?  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1847,  by 

WILLIAM   S.    DAMRELL, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


KITTY  GRAFTON. 


Among  tie  most  favorable  notices,  which  have  been  so  kindly  bestowed  upon  ihe  Temp< 
Tales,  there  have  been  occasional  strictures  upon  the  exhibition  of  deacons,  church-membeii,  and 
clergymen,  in  an  unfavorable  lisjht.  The  story  now  offered  to  the  world,  mav  be  read  w'lhout 
disquietude,  by  those,  who  are  sensitive  upon  this,  point,  A  respectful  regard  for  the  opinion*  of 
Others  has  prompted  the  writer  to  ofler  a  plain  exposition  of  his  own. 

If,  in  these  humble  efforts  to  promote  the  welfare  of  mankind,  the  holy  office  of  pastor  and  iU 
correlative  offices  of  deacon  and  church-member  had  anywhere,  on  any  page,  been  otheivise 
approached  than  with  affectionate  respect,  there  would  assuredly  have  been  good  ground  of  otience 
But  u  has  been  far  otherwise.  Not  only  have  these  offices,  as  such,  been  presented  in  the  most 
respectful  point  of  view,  but  examples  can  readily  he  found,  over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the 
Temperance  Tales,  of  individual  deacons,  church-members,  and  clergymen,  of  the  most  pious  and 
exemplary  lives  and  conversations. 

The  stricture  must  therefore  be  considered,  as  limited  to  the  occasional  introduction  of  an  anti- 
temperance  minister,  a  rum  selling-  deacon,  or  a  drunken  church-member. 

Nothing  can  be  more  pertinent  here,  than  a  few  extracts  from  a  late  letter  to  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Edwards,  from  the  Rev.  Leonard  Woods,  1).  D.  Professor  of  Christian  Theology,  in  the  Theological 
Institution,  Andover,  Massachusetts.'  "  When  I  e  tered  on  the  work  <f  the  ministry  (thirty-eight 
years  ago)  it  was  the  general  and  almost  universal  practice f>>r  ministers  to  make  a  frequent  use  of 
stimulating  drinks,  especially  on  the  Sabbath.  They  considered  thin  practice  an  importa  -it  means  of 
promoting  their  health,  *u*trd  ing  them  under  fatigue,  and  incrtasi  g  the  vigor  ;f  their  cnnsiitu 
lion.  The  ge-  erality  iif  physicians  apf  roved  of  this  practice,  and  often  recommended  brandy,  mine, 
gin,  etc.,  as  the  best  remeily  for  diseases  of  the  stomach  and  lungs  Every  family  that  I  visited, 
deemed  it  im  act  of  ki>,dnes.i,  a  d  noiiorrthan  what  common  civility  required,  to  offer  me  wine, 
or  distilled  spirit,  ad  thought  it  a  little  strmge,  if  I  refuted  to  drink.  At  funerals,  th» 
bereaved  friends  a  d  others  were  accuntomtd.  to  use  strong  drink  btfore  and  after  going  tn  the  burial, 
At  ordinations,  con  cits,  and  all  other  meetings  of  mini  at  ra,  different  kinds  of  stimulating  drinkt 
leerc  provided,  and  there  were  hut  few  who  did  not  partake  of  them."  ..»•«• 
•  •  .  •  "The  slate  of  things  which  I  have  referred  to,  among  men  of  my  own 

j«?on,  together  with  its  manifest  consequences,  began,  early  i  ,  my  ministry,  to  alarm  my  fears. 

.  ember  that  at  a  particular  period'  before  the  temperance  reformation  commenced,  I  was  able  to 

eoit'it  up  nearly  forty  mi  inters  of  the  Gnxpel,  a  *d  none  of  them  at  a  very  great  distance,  who  were 
either  drunkards,  or  so  fur  addicted  to  intemperate  drink'ing,  that  their  rrputation  and  usefulnest 
were  greatly  injured,  if  not  utterly  ruined.  Ad  I  could  mention  an  ordination,  that  look  place 
about  twenty  year?  nso,  nt  which,  I  my<elf,  was  ashamed  and  grieved  to  see  two  aged  mimstert 
literally  drunk  ;  and  a  third,  indecently  excited  with  strong  drin/c.  These  di  tgutting  and  appalling 
facts  I  -should  wish  might  he  concealed.  But  they  were  mide  public  by  the  guilty  persons;  and] 
have  thought  it  j  Rt  and  proper  to  mention  them,  in  order  to  show  how  much  we  owe  to  a  compos- 
sio  ate  (riidfur  the  gre-it  deliverance  he  has  wrought  " 

The  offices  cif  the  church  are  not  more  likely  to  come  into  disrepute,  at  the  present  time,  by  an 
intimation  that  drunkenness  may  be  found  anum-r  the  professors  of  Christianity,  than  was  the 
profession  of  Christianity  nself.  when  an  inspired  apostle  relinked  the  drunkenness  of  the  primitive 
disciplet  around  the  table  of  their  Lord.  Bui  these  offices  may  well  be  considered  of  doubtful  dignity, 

other  a^sohuTsecunt"'  from' .'he"  ev  i"i  I of  intemperance,  than 
irv  the  whole  armor  of  a  cold- water  man.  It  is  not  possible  more  forcibly  to  exhibit  this  '.ruth,  which 
sir.h  multitudes  appear  unwilling  to  believe,  than  by  exhibiting,  in  a  strikinz  lisrlit,  the  insufficiency 
ei  ;n  of  i  he  offices  and  professions  of  religion  to  protect  those  teachers  and  disciples  of  Christianity. 
« i.o,  while  they  pray  not  to  be  led  into  temptation,  obviously  prefer  the  path  of  danger  to  that  of 
»afety. 


M  Y  ministerial  labors  commenced  in  the  village  of  Heathermead, 
about  nine  years  ago  ;  and,  in  these  times,  when  a  love  of  change 
appears  to  be  almost,  epidemical  among  ministers  and  people,  it  may 
seem  somewhat  remarkable,  that  I  still  preach  where  my  pastoral 
life  began,  to  many  willing  ears,  and,  I  trust,  through  God's  mercy, 
to  some  sanctified  hearts. 

*  Ninth  Rep.  Amer.  Temp.  Soc.,  p.  49. 
VOL.  ii.  1* 


6  KITTY  GRAFTON 

I  was  first  called  to  the  ministry  as  the  colleague  of  a  very  aged 
man,  the  ROT.  Adrian  More.  He  was  rry  father,  —  not  after  the 
flesh, — my  own  natural  father  I  never  l/eheld  ;  he  perished  at  sea, 
a  few  months  only  before  I  was  born.  —  This  aged  minister  was  my 
father  in  the  Lord.  I  was  placed  under  his  care,  to  be  prepared  for 
the  university  ;  and  the  good  old  man  prepared  me,  I  trust,  for  the 
faithful  service  of  the  best  of  masters.  When  I  quitted  the  univer 
sity,  I  was  instructed  for  the  ministry  under  his  direction  ;  and,  sub 
sequently,  at  his  own  request,  I  became  associated  with  him  in  his 
holy  office.  This  venerable  man,  at  the  age  of  eighty  years,  gave 
me  the  charge  upon  my  ordination  ;  and  my  first  public  discourse, 
on  the  ensuing  Sabbath,  was  a  sermon  over  his  lifeless  remains.  He 
was  ripe  for  the  sickle,  and  longed  to  be  gathered  in.  The  energies 
of  a  good  constitution  and  the  grace  of  God  had  sustained  him  for 
six  and  fifty  years,  in  the  performance  of  his  sacred  trust ;  and 
when,  in  God's  good  time,  his  spiritual  guard  was  relieved,  by  the 
institution  of  another  at  his  side  ;  this  faithful  old  soldier  of  the 
cross  laid  down  his  armor  of  the  present  world,  and  went  to  that 
rest,  appointed  for  the  dead,  who  die  in  the  Lord. 

During  the  period  of  my  pupilage,  we  had  many  pleasant  rambles 
together,  and  I  never  failed  to  gather  some  useful  instruction  by  the 
way ;  for  his  conscientious  impressions  of  duty,  as  my  instructor, 
forbade  him  to  be  satisfied  with  affording  me,  the  mere  technicalities 
of  education  ;  and  our  conversation,  at  such  times,  was  eminently 
useful,  in  the  improvement  of  my  reasoning  and  colloquial  powers. 

Upon  one  occasion,  we  had  strolled  almost  to  the  confines  of  the 
next  village  ;  in  which  it  was  a  matter  of  painful  notoriety,  that  the 
clergyman  consulted  his  own  comfort,  rather  than  the  spiritual  wants 
of  his  parishioners  :  "  Let  us  turn,"  said  my  old  master,  —  with  a 
smile  upon  his  benignant  features,  in  which  the  slight  touch  of 
pleasantry,  that  first  arose,  was  speedily  chased  away  by  an  expres 
sion  of  sadness  ;  —  "  let  us  turn,"  said  he  ;  "  let  us  not  press  further 
upon  our  brother's  domains,  lest  we  be  suspected  of  coming  to  see 
the  nakedness  of  the  land."  —  Upon  the  very  borders  of  the  adjoin 
ing  village,  though  within  the  limits  of  our  own,  there  stood  an 
ancient  cottage,  of  peculiar  structure,  with  its  multiplied  gables,  and 
its  second  story  projecting  over  the  first.  From  its  broken  windows 
and  doors,  I  supposed  it  to  have  been  abandoned.  It  is  yet  stand 
ing,  and  is  the  very  last  cottage,  as  you  leave  Heathermead,  on  the 
north.  In  the  rear  of  this  building,  there  were,  at  that  time,  the 
remains  of  an  uncommonly  large  barn  ;  the  timbers  and  roof  were 
then  in  existence,  but  the  boards  and  the  lower  part  of  the  interior 
had  been  removed.  As  we  drew  near,  a  female  came  forth,  and 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  7 

stood,  without  any  apparent  motive,  looking  steadily  towards  us,  aa 
we  passed.  — "  I  did  not  think  it  was  inhabited,"  said  I.  —  "  It  is 
not,"  replied  my  old  master,  "  excepting  by  that  lone  woman."  —  As 
we  drew  nigh,  I  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  the  solitary  occu 
pant  more  closely.  Her  person  was  tall  and  thin  ;  her  eye,  sunken 
and  haggard  ;  and  her  hair,  which  was  wholly  uncovered,  and  quite 
gray,  bore  no  evidence  of  personal  attention.  The  expression  of 
her  countenance  was  decidedly  bitter  and  malevolent.  When  we 
came  in  front  of  the  cottage  —  "Good  morning,  Mrs.  Grafton," 
said  my  old  master.  The  effect  of  his  salutation  would  have  been 
as  perceptible  upon  the  features  of  a  statue.  She  stood  perfectly 
still,  gazing  upon  us  with  unabated  severity,  and  in  perfect  silence. 

—  "1  will  try  once  more,"  said  he,  aside.  —  "I  hear  excellent 
accounts  of  your  children,  Mrs.  Grafton."  —  "Umph! — the  poor- 
house  !"  —  she  replied,  with  a  sneering  expression,  and  walked  back 
into  the  cottage,  without  uttering  another  word.  —  "  It  is  in  vain," 
said  he,  as  we  walked  slowly  away  ;  "  this  unhappy  woman  is 
utterly  impracticable  ;  I  can  do  nothing  with  her,  though  I  have 
made  many  and  various  attempts,  for  several  years."  —  "Is  she 
crazy,  sir?"  I  inquired.  —  "  There  are  some  persons  who  think  so, 
but  I  do  not,"  he  replied.     "  Here  she  has  lived  all  her  days.    That 
cottage  was  built  by  her  father  ;  she  was  born  there  ;  her  parents 
died  there  ;  there  she  was  married  ;  and  there  she  gave  birth  to  five 
children  ;  and  she  is  resolved  to  die  there.     No  —  she  is  not  crazy 

—  she  is  desperate.     Her  case  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  that 
I  have  ever  known.     The  story  is  too  long  to  be  told  during  our 
walk  home  ;  but,  if  I  have  no  particular  engagement  this  evening, 
I  will  relate  it  to  you." 

My  old  master  had  scarcely  returned  thanks  after  our  evening 
repast,  and  seated  himself  in  his  arm-chair,  when  I  drew  near,  and 
looked  up  in  his  face  with  an  expression  which  he  readily  under 
stood.  —  "  Well,  my  child,"  said  he,  "  you  shall  not  be  disappointed 
of  your  story,  though  it  may  cost  me  some  pain  in  the  relation."  — 
"How  old  was  that  woman,  sir,"  said  I,  "whom  we  saw  this 
morning  at  the  cottage  door?"  —  "  I  cannot  tell  you  precisely,"  he 
replied,  "  without  a  recurrence  to  my  records  ;  she  is  well  advanced 
in  years,  though  somewhat  younger  than  you  would  be  led  to  sup 
pose  from  her  appearance.  Harrowing  care  and  bitter  disappoint 
ment  will  sometimes  lay  hold  of  time's  checkered  signet,  and 
sudde.ily  fix  the  impression  of  old  age,  as  effectually,  as  though  it 
were  done  by  the  more  dilatory  process  of  time  itself.  But  I  will 
tell  you  the  story  from  the  beginning.  —  Very  many  years  ago,  there 
came  to  this  village  a  man,  whose  name  was  Gotlieb  Jansen  :  he 


8  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

brought  with  him  his  wife.  They  were  of  that  class  of  persons, 
who  have  been  called  redemptioners.  They  came  to  this  country 
from  a  village  on  the  borders  of  the  Rhine.  They  \vere  extremely 
poor,  and  embarked  with  an  understanding,  that,  when  they  arrived 
in  America,  they  should  voluntarily  bind  themselves  to  servitude, 
for  the  advantage  of  the  ship-owner,  until  their  passage-money 
should  be  paid.  They  arrived  at  the  port  3f  Philadelphia  ;  where, 
at  the  present  day,  there  are  some  opulent  and  fashionable  families, 
who  have  good  sense  enough  to  trace,  with  pleasure,  their  origin  to 
those  redemptioners  of  Germany,  who  brought  nothing  hither  from 
their  native  shores,  but  honest  hearts  and  willing  hands.  Gotlieb 
Jansen  and  his  wife,  upon  their  arrival,  were  young,  healthy,  in 
dustrious,  frugal,  and  strictly  temperate.  He  was  an  expert  gardener, 
and  well  skilled  in  agriculture,  in  all  its  departments.  In  the  me 
tropolis  of  Pennsylvania  he  soon  found  employment  for  his  talent  in 
horticulture.  As  wages  were  proportioned  to  experience  and  skill, 
Jansen's  compensation,  and  the  perquisites  and  privileges  of  the 
garden  and  green-house  of  a  private  gentleman,  in  whose  service  he 
labored,  soon  procured  him  the  means  of  redeeming  himself  and  his 
young  wife  from  their  voluntary  bondage.  He  continued  to  labor  in 
his  vocation,  with  uninterrupted  health  and  indefatigable  industry 
for  seven  years.  His  employer  was  a  member  of  the  society  of 
Friends,  of  whom  Jansen  never  spoke  but  with  affectionate  respect. 
At  the  end  of  this  term,  his  earnings,  which  had  been  judiciously 
invested,  under  the  counsel  of  his  Quaker  friend,  amounted  to  no 
inconsiderable  sum.  He  was  desirous  of  trying  the  virtue  of  his 
faithful  share  and  pruning-hook  upon  acres  and  orchards  of  his  own. 
He  has  often  told  me  how  much  he  suffered,  when  he  came  to  break 
the  matter  to  his  kind  master.  The  Quaker  paused  for  some  mo 
ments  ;  and  at  length  observed,  that  he  owned  a  tract  of  fair  land 
in  that  part  of  the  village  of  Heathermead,  which  is  called  Heather- 
mead  End  ;  that  he  might  go  and  look  at  it ;  and,  if  he  likod  it,  he 
should  nave  a  deed  of  it  for  a  certain  sum.  Jansen  lost  no  time  in 
making  a  journey  to  Heathermead,  and  examining  the  land,  which 
was  manifestly  of  an  excellent  quality.  He  discovered,  however, 
that  the  tract  could  readily  be  sold,  for  a  greater  sum,  to  the  farmers 
of  Heathermead,  who  best  knew  its  value.  Here,  as  he  failed  not 
to  perceive,  was  an  admirable  chance  to  cheat  the  old  Quaker ;  but 
double-dealing  was  not  one  of  the  secrets,  by  which  Gotlieb  Jansen's 
prosperity  had  arisen.  He  faithfully  represented  the  matter  to  his 
master  :  — '  Thee  likest  the  tract?'  said  the  Quaker.  —  'It  is  as  fine 
land  as  I  ever  saw,  said  Jansen,  '  and  I  am  greatly  pleased  with  it.' 
—  *  Thee  hast  served  me  seven  years,'  rejoined  the  Quaker,  '  and 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  9 

thee  hast  pleased  me  right  well.  I  well  know  the  value  of  that 
land,  but  thee  shall  have  a  deed  for  the  sum  I  said  unto  thee.'  —  1 
have  seen  Gotlieb  Jansen  shed  tears  of  gratitude,  as  he  desciibed 
his  separation  from  his  old  Quaker  master,  when,  with  an  affec 
tionate  pressure  of  the  hand,  and  '  Fare  thee  well,  friend  Jansen,' 
he  put  into  his  hands  the  deed  of  this  valuable  tract,  for  not  more 
than  three  fourths  of  its  real  value. 

"  Gotlieb  Jansen's  first  care  was  to  erect  upon  his  land  the  house 
and  bam,  the  remains  of  which  we  passed  this  morning.  The 
peculiar  structure  of  the  one,  and  the  unusually  large  dimensions 
of  the  other  were  subjects  of  much  conversation  in  the  village  ;  aid, 
if  all  the  strictures,  which  were  made  upon  Jansen's  proceedings  at 
the  time,  had  been  collected  together,  we  should  have  quite  a  vol 
ume  of  commentaries.  The  general  impression,  for  a  while,  ran 
decidedly  against  him,  as  a  whimsical  fellow.  At  a  short  distance 
from  his  dwelling,  he  had  erected,  rather  for  pleasure  than  profit,  a 
little  conservatory  for  plants.  At  that  time,  probably,  not  an  inhab 
itant  of  Heathermead  had  ever  beheld  a  green-house  ;  and  the  good 
people  of  the  village  were  exceedingly  perplexed  in  relation  to  the 
proprietor's  design  ;  but,  as  Gotlieb,  while  his  buildings  were  in 
progress,  was  'busily  engaged  in  planting  an  extensive  orchard,  the 
farmers'  wives  were  almost  unanimously  of  opinion,  that  the  new 
structure  was  designed  for  drying  apples.  They  were  not  a  little 
disposed  to  laugh  in  their  sleeves  at  poor  Gotlieb,  for  erecting  such 
a  building,  so  long  before  he  could  possibly  expect  to  gather  apples 
from  his  young  trees.  The  farmers  themselves  were  not  altogether 
without  good  cause,  as  they  esteemed  it,  for  a  little  chuckling,  at 
Jansen's  expense.  Underneath  every  apple-tree,  as  he  set  it  in  the 
ground,  he  had  placed  a  large  flat  stone,  which,  they  pleasantly 
observed,  was  not  likely  to  afford  much  nourishment.  This  was  a 
German  custom,  designed  to  prevent  the  roots  from  tapping,  or 
striking  downward,  and  to  compel  them  to  take  their  course  along 
the  upper  and  richer  soil. 

'  Gotlieb  Jansen  was  a  man  of  few  words.  Those  precious 
hours,  which  so  many  disinterested  people  devote  to  the  affairs  of 
others,  this  honest  German  bestowed  upon  his  own  :  he  labored  on, 
contented  with  the  proverb,  which  bids  those  laugh,  who  win. 
Matters  soon  however  began  to  wear  a  very  different  appearance. 
His  intercourse  with  the  people  of  Heathermead  speedily  established 
his  reputation,  as  an  obliging,  good-natured  man  ;  he  seemed  not 
desirous  of  wrapping  himself,  or  his  affairs,  in  unusual  mystery  ; 
and  the  farmers'  wives  were  particularly  inclined  to  think  well  of 
Gotlieb  Jansen  when  he  expounded  the  riddle  of  the  green-house, 


10  KITTY  GRAFTCN. 

by  telling  them,  that  it  was  meant  as  a  plaything  for  his  '  goof 
woman,'  who  was  extremely  fond  of  cultivating  flowers.  In  a  fev 
years,  his  agricultural  success  had  thoroughly  established  his  repu 
tation,  as  an  excellent  husbandman  ;  and  Jansen's  farm  became  not 
less  an  object  of  attraction  to  the  farmers  of  the  village,  than  his 
green-house  and  flower-garden  to  their  wives  and  daughters.  He  had 
readily  assimilated  and  become  one  of  the  people  ;  and  was  univer 
sally  beloved  and  respected.  About  a  year  after  his  arrival  in  this 
village,  his  wife  gave  birth  to  a  daughter.  Gotlieb  and  his  wife,  in 
the  progress  of  time,  became  members  of  our  church,  and  the}  were 
pious  Christians.  Their  daughter,  Christiana,  grew  up  an  une<im- 
monly  beautiful  young  woman.  She  was  their  only  child  ;  and,  ii' 
the  parents  were  particularly  censurable  for  any  fault,  it  was  for 
their  doting  partiality  towards  this  interesting  girl.  They  were 
more  than  willing  to  gratify  her,  in  all  her  desires.  Her  spirit  was 
high,  and  her  temper  extremely  quick ;  but  her  heart  was  full  of 
generosity,  and  her  disposition,  towards  those  she  loved,  was  amia 
ble  and  kind.  She  inherited  the  partiality  of  her  parents  for  the 
cultivation  of  flowers ;  and  the  garden  and  the  little  green-house 
were  her  chief  delights.  Her  features  were  characteristic,  in  no 
very  remarkable  degree  however,  of  her  foreign  origin  ;  but,  at  the 
age  of  eighteen,  she  was  singularly  attractive.  Kitty  Jansen  was, 
at  that  time,  deservedly  styled  the  beauty  of  Heathermead  End. 
Her  surpassing  comeliness  was  universally  acknowledged,  in  our 
parish,  with  a  single  exception.  There  was  a  Miss  Pamela  Mickle, 
who  had  herself  been  handsome  in  her  day,  but  was  then  in  her 
wane,  who  solemnly  protested,  that  she  never  could  see  it.  After 
the  description,  which  I  have  given  you  of  Kitty  Jansen,"  continued 
my  old  master,  "  you  will  scarcely  be  able  to  trace  a  vestige  of  that 
lovely  girl,  in  the  miserable  creature,  that  gazed  upon  us,  as  we 
passed  the  cottage.  But  it  is  even  so.  That  was  Kitty  Jansen. 
That  desolate  wilderness  was  the  same,  which  my  poor  friend  Got 
lieb  once  made  to  blossom  like  the  rose.  That  abandoned  dwelling 
was  then  the  habitation  of  joy,  and  love,  and  peace,  and  prayer. 
In  all  my  parish,  —  and  my  parishioners  love  me  above  my  deserts, 
—  I  have  nowhere  been  more  kindly  greeted  than  in  that  cottage. 
Whenever  I  came,  and  however  they  were  occupied,  all  things  were 
gladly  sacrificed  for  the  sake  of  a  little  conversation  with  their  pas 
tor.  Gotlieb  would  leave  his  plough  in  the  furrow,  and  the  good 
wife  would  hasten  from  her  dairy ;  and  even  Kitty,  though  she  never 
stemed  to  rely  upon  the  only  sure  foundation,  like  her  parents, 
would  not  suffer  me  to  depart,  without  an  offering  of  her  choicest 
fniit,  or  a  bunch  of  her  finest  flowers  By  the  aid  of  a  mischievous 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  11 

memory,  it  is  all  before  me,  for  an  instant  —  and  now  again  it  is 
gone.  What  a  curse  has  fallen  upon  poor  Gotlieb's  little  JLden !  — 
The  simoom  could  not  have  wrought  the  work  of  destruction  more 
effectually. 

"  There  was  living  in  Heathermead,  when  Kitty  Jansen  was  ahout 
eighteen  years  of  age,  a  young  man,  a  farmer's  son,  whose  name 
was  Ethan  Grafton.  He  was  a  very  capable  and  industrious  young 
man.  While  his  father  cultivated  a  small  hired  farm,  adjoining 
Jansen's,  Ethan  availed  himself  of  his  proximity,  and  cultivated  the 
alfections  of  the  old  man's  daughter  ;  and  it  soon  began  to  be  whis 
pered  about,  that  young  Ethan's  crop  would  be  worth  more  than  his 
father's,  should  they  be  successful  in  getting  in  their  respective  har 
vests.  Pamela  Mickle  said  it  never  would  be  a  match  in  the  world  ; 
and,  after  that,  the  most  incredulous  began  to  believe  it.  The  pop 
ular  prophecy  was  correct ;  and,  in  less  than  two  years,  Ethan 
Grafton  wedded  the  beauty  of  Heathermead  End  ;  upon  which  mem 
orable  occasion,  poor  Pamela  Mickle  laughed  herself  into  a  violent 
fit  of  hysterics.  It  was  thought  to  be  an  excellent  match.  I  cer 
tainly  thought  so  myself,"  said  my  old  master.  "  Grafton  was 
apparently  an  amiable  man,  and  wonderfully  popular  in  our  village. 
He  was  active,  and  intelligent  in  his  business ;  and.  under  the 
instruction  of  such  a  teacher  as  Jansen,  it  was  augured  that  he 
would,  in  time,  become  the  most  accomplished  farmer  in  the  county. 

"  Old  Gotlieb  and  his  wife  had  stipulated,  that  their  only  child 
should  not  leave  them  in  their  old  age  ;  so  Ethan  married  on,  as  we 
say,  when  a  woman  takes  a  husband,  rather  than  a  man  a  wife. 
For  years,  the  happiness  of  this  family  appeared  to  be  as  complete, 
as  any  earthly  thing  can  be.  How  often,"  continued  my  old  mas 
ter,  "  have  I  seen  Gotlieb,  of  a  summer  evening,  sitting  on  the  green 
before  his  cottage  door,  with  the  good  book  open  upon  his  knees,  and 
surrounded  by  his  little  grandchildren  !  —  He  was  an  even-tempered 
old  man,  and  his  whole  life  was  free  from  every  appearance  of  osten 
tation.  It  is  true,  when  his  old  friend  and  patron,  the  Quaker, 
came  to  visit  him,  as  he  did,  once  at  least  in  every  year,  there  was 
commonly,  for  a  few  days  before  his  arrival,  no  little  bustle  and 
preparation,  in  the  cottage  at  Heathermead  End.  The  Quaker  was 
a  noble-looking  old  gentleman,  arrayed  in  a  suit  of  the  finest  broad 
cloth,  cut,  to  be  sure,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  society  of 
Friends,  and  of  course  without  cape  or  supernumerary  button.  1 
never  shall  forget  the  magnificent  pair  of  horses  that  he  drove. 
They  cost  him,  as  Gotlieb  said,  one  thousand  dollars.  I  once  asked 
old  Jansen,  what  induced  him  to  make  such  a  parade  for  his  Quakei 
,  particularly  in  the  culinary  part  of  ais  arrangements.  '  vy,' 


12  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

eaid  Gotlieb,  '  de  old  gentleman  ish  von  of  de  ki.idest  and  pest  men 
in  de  voorld,  and  he  ish  temperate  in  his  eating  and  drinking,  but 
he  like  de  roast  duck  vary  veil,  and  he  know  ven  he  ish  done  to  a 
turn.' 

"  Gotlieb  and  Theresa  Janjen,  his  wife,  were  stricken  in  years. 
There  was  nothing  like  morbid  sensibility  in  the  attachment  of  this 
couple,  yet  they  were  devoted  to  each  other.  They  appeared  to  be 
governed  by  a  sober  conviction,  that  two  heads  and  two  hearts  are 
better  than  one,  when  their  efforts  and  their  energies  are  concen 
trated,  for  the  creation  of  a  joint  stock  of  c  omestic  happiness.  They 
were  reasonable  people,  and  understood  aright  the  process,  which 
God  employs  to  wean  his  children  from  the  present  world ;  they 
read  volumes  of  wisdom  in  the  storm  and  tempest,  arid  found  a 
meaning  in  the  flickering  cloud,  as  it  takes  somewhat  from  the 
splendor  of  the  brightest  mid-day ;  they  submitted  with  the  confi 
dence  of  devoted  children  to  the  discipline  of  their  teacher  ;  and, 
when  age  and  its  wearisome  retinue  of  cares  and  infirmities  were  at 
hand,  they  were  not  compelled  to  make  a  hasty  preparation  for 
heaven.  The  tyrant  and  the  usurper  have  occasionally  worn  their 
armor  beneath  their  robes  of  state,  in  the  spirit  of  fear  :  in  another 
spirit,  old  Gotlieb  and  his  worthy  partner, .  however  occupied, 
whether  in  their  Sabbath  clothes  or  working  apparel,  by  day  or  by 
night,  had  worn  their  armor  of  righteousness  upon  the  right  hand 
and  upon  the  left.  —  The  old  man  had  grown  too  infirm  for  the  labors 
of  the  field,  but  I  have  seen  him,"  said  my  old  master,  "  of  a  spring 
morning,  sitting  upon  the  green  bank,  and  looking  down  upon  his 
goodly  acres,  with  two  or  three  of  his  grandchildren  about  him, 
while  Ethan  Grafton,  his  son-in-law,  held  the  plough,  and  his  old 
est  boy  Elkanah,  who  was  not  over  seven,  rode  the  mare.  No  war- 
horse  was  ever  fonder  of  the  fields  of  his  youth  than  olJ  Gotlieb  ; 
nor  did  the  former  ever  turn  his  ear  to  the  trumpet,  moio  eagerly 
than  this  old  man  to  the  first  full  drops  of  pattering  rain,  as  tl  ey  fell, 
after  a  long  interval  of  drought,  upon  the  parching  ground. 

"  One  fine  morning  in  May,  old  Gotlieb  walked  forth  with  little 
Elkanah,  to  whom  he  was  particularly  attached,  taking  his  pocket 
Bible,  as  was  his  constant  practice,  to  read  upon  the  way.  The 
old  man  used  to  say,  that  he  loved  most  to  woiship  God  in  the 
fields,  where  he  could  have  a  full  view  of  the  woiks  of  his  hands, 
and  where  he  could  gaze  upward,  without  anything  of  human  crea 
tion  to  obstruct  his  view.  He  returned  much  earlier  than  was  his 
custom.  Little  Elkanah  came  first  into  the  house,  and  brought  the 
tidings,  that  his  grandfather  had  been  very  fail  t.  —  The  good  old 
wife  received  him  at  the  door.  He  sat  down  in  the  stoop  before 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  13 

the  cottage  ;  and,  as  he  gave  her  —  it  had  been  his  custom  for  many 
years  —  the  first  branch  that  he  could  find  of  the  dogwood  inp 
full  flower,  — '  Dat  ish  de  last,'  said  he  with  a  faint  smile.  Old 
Theresa  turned  away,  for  an  instant,  to  conceal  her  emotion.  As 
she  came  back  to  him  with  a  glass  of  water,  '  Gotlieb,'  said  she. 
'  Kitty  says  the  new  rose,  in  the  green-house,  that  you  wished 
to  see  flower,  is  just  coming  out.  The  garden  looks  finely,  this 
morning ;  and,  when  you  feel  stronger,  you  and  I  will  go  and  walk 
in  it,  Gotlieb.' — The  old  man  shook  his  head,  as  he  placed  both 
hands  upon  his  heart.  —  They  sent  for  me,"  continued  my  old  mas 
ter.  "  He  was  very  low,  when  I  arrived  ;  and  the  physician,  who 
had  been  previously  summoned,  proclaimed  his  end  to  be  near. 
He  said  little.  '  She  tells  me,'  said  he,  pointing  to  his  wife,  '  that 
we  shall  walk  in  the  garden  together :  so  we  shall,  but  it  will  be  in 
the  garden  of  Eden.'  —  After  he  had  lost  the  power  of  speech,  he 
drew  Elkanah  towards  him,  and  put  into  the  child's  bosom  the  little 
pocket  Bible,  which  had  been  the  companion  of  their  rambles. 

"  In  two  days  after,  this  good  old  man  yielded  up  his  spirit.  For 
many  years,  Theresa  had  cherished  a  strong  hope,  that  they  might 
be  permitted  to  commence  their  heavenly  walk  together.  This 
hope  had  operated  upon  her  mind  with  such  force,  as  to  produce 
something  like  a  belief,  that  it  would  be  so.  What  there  may 
be  of  philosophy  in  such  matters — how  far  the  force  of  a  powerful 
and  long-cherished  presentiment  may  physically  operate  in  the  pro 
duction  of  such  results,  I  pretend  norto  comprehend.  I  have  noth 
ing  to  do,  but  with  the  fact.  Good  old  Theresa  performed  the  last 
offices  of  love ;  she  closed  those  eyes,  that  had  never  looked  upon 
her  but  with  affection. — The  next  morning  she  rose  not  as  usual. 
When  her  daughter  entered  her  chamber,  her  features  were  so  per 
fectly  composed,  that,  at  first,  she  seemed  to  be  in  peaceful  slumber  : 
—  it  was  not  thus — the  corruptible  was  there,  but  the  spirit  had 
fled.  During  the  still  watches  of  the  night,  it  had  quitted  its  taber 
nacle,  and  already  commenced  its  passage  with  that  of  her  husband 
to  the  garden  of  Eden,  for  a  closer  walk  with  her  Saviour  and  her 
God.  Their  bodies  were  buried  in  the  same  grave." 

When  my  old  master  had  arrived  at  this  point,  he  drew  a  heavy 
sigh.  "Ah,"  said  he,  "it  would  be  refreshing  to  rest  here,  but 
truth,  however  painful  in  its  progress,  presses  us  forward.— After  the 
death  of  the  old  people,  Ethan  Grafton  and  his  wife  continued,  for 
some  time,  to  live  happily  together.  Excepting  in  the  ordinary 
allotments  of  Providence,  it  would  have  been  a  very  difficult  matter 
for  a  common  observer,  to  have  anticipated  the  cause,  which  should 
annihilate  their  happiness,  or  even  deprive  them  of  any  material  part 

VOL.  JI.  2 


14  KITTY  GRAFli     . 

of  it.  Old  Gotlieb  had  such  unbounded  confidence  in  the  wisdoi* 
of  his  son-in-law,  and  in  his  affection  for  his  daughter,  that  he  gave 
bin  his  entire  property  by  will.  —  When  the  old  man  planted  an 
orchard,  he  probably  no  more  imagined,  that  he  was  laying  the  foun 
dation  of  the  temple  of  discord,  within  the  precincts  of  his  peaceful 
cottage,  than  Noah  supposed,  when  he  planted  a  vineyard,  that,  by 
an  abuse  of  its  products,  he  should  bring  down  the  curse  upon 
Canaan.  But  it  fell  out.  in  the  course  of  time,  that,  as  the  patri 
arch  drank  of  the  wine  and  was  drunken,  so  Ethan  Grafton's  incom 
parable  cider  and  perry  were  found  abundantly  capable  of  producing 
the  same  mischievous  result.  Gotlieb  Jansen's  orchard  had  long 
been  an  object,  of  universal  remark.  The  old  man  had  spared  no 
pains,  in  its  culture  and  preservation.  In  the  words  of  Bayley 
McGrudy,  the  Scotch  schoolmaster,  who  taught  the  school  in 
Heathermead,  when  displaying  his  library  of  two  hundred  and  forty 
volumes,  —  'There  was  nothing  like  it  in  all  Heathermead.' 
Ethan,  as  I  have  said,  was  a  popular,  and.  of  course,  a  very  hospita 
ble  man.  The  quantity  of  cider,  which  he  annually  manufactured, 
was  enormous,  and  its  quality  so  very  superior,  as  to  insure  a  ready 
and  extensive  market.  The  liberality  of  old  Gotlieb  had  made  his 
son-in-law  the  sovereign  master  of  many  broad  acres,  a  capital 
homestead,  an  excellent  stock,  and  some  ready  money.  When  a 
young  man,  somewhat  abruptly,  steps  into  an  estate,  so  entirely 
transcending  his  primitive  aspirations,  he  is  commonly  liable  to  an 
epanchernent  du  cceur,  an  opening  of  the  heart.  No  sooner  was 
the  legitimate  period  of  mourning  at  an  end,  than  Ethan  Grafton 
began  to  invite  his  friends  to  come  and  see  him.  And,  long  before, 
there  were  not  a  few,  who  used  to  say,  '  The  Graftons  must  be  ver\ 
lonely  ;  let  us  go  and  sit  an  hour  or  so  with  Ethan,  and  taste  his 
cider.'  It  must  not  be  supposed,  that  Ethan  Grafton's  cider  was 
such  miserable,  vapid  trash  as  is  occasionally  met  with,  upon  the 
dinner  tables  of  country  taverns,  whose  employment  sets  the  teeth 
on  edge,  and  brings  tears  into  the  eyes,  and  deprives  the  human 
countenance,  for  the  time,  of  all  its  rational  proportions.  There 
was  no  more  resemblance  than  between  the  waters  of  Helicon  and 
those  of  a  washtub,  or  between  nectar  and  the  very  smallest  of  small 
beer.  Ethan  Grafton's  far-famed  cider,  like  the  wine,  so  fatally 
administered  by  Ulysses  to  the  Cyclop,  was  truly 

'  Mellifluous,  undecaying,  and  divine.' 

He  had  a  prodigious  amount  of  cider  ana  perry  in  bottles,  of  differ 
ent  years,  marked  and  numbered,  and  arranged  with  the  greatest 
care,  on  their  respective  shelves,  in  his  cellar.  When  he  enter- 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  15 

tained  his  friends,  and  despatched  little  Elkanah  for  some  particu 
lar  bottle,  it  was  impossible  to  shut  out  the  comparison,  if  it  be 
lawful  '  parvis  componere  magnaS  between  the  young  farmer  of 
Heathermead  End,  and  some  metropolitan  entertainer,  with  his 
steward  of  the  wine-cellar  at  his  elbow,  book  in  hand,  ready,  at  a 
word,  to  proceed  to  any  specified  compartment,  section,  and  range 
of  the  subterraneous  treasure-house,  and  select  the  identical  bottle, 
which  the  master  requires. 

"Certain  it  was,  as  Bayley  McGrudy  used  shrewdly  to  remark, 
that,  when  the  tears  ceased  to  flow  at  Heathermead  End,  the  cider 
began.  Ethan  used  to  boast  that  he  had  cider  in  his  cellar,  that 
was  'full  as  good  as  any  wine.'  Whether  its  effects  were  evidences 
of  its  goodness  or  badness,  it  became  matter  of  demonstration,  within 
a  couple  of  years  after  old  Gotlieb's  death,  that  it  would  produce 
drunkenness  about  as  soon  ;  and  that  drunkenness,  so  produced, 
would  as  readily  steal  away  the  brains,  and  sour  the  temper,  and 
blunt  the  kindlier  affections  of  the  heart.  Ethan's  cider  was  certainly 
very  much  like  Noah's  wine  in  its  operation  and  effects.  It  soon 
began  to  manifest,  in  its  influences,  the  truth  of  his  assertion,  that  it 
was  quite  equal  to  wine;  and,  as  the  first  domestic  quarrel,  after 
the  flood,  and  the  curse  of  Canaan  were  the  almost  immediate  con 
sequences  of  drunkenness  on  wine,  so  the- first  harsh  treatment, 
which  Gotlieb's  grandchildren  received  from  their  father,  was  a  severe 
kick,  bestowed  upon  little  Elkanah,  for  selecting  the  wrong  bottle 
of  cider,  while  his  father  was  endeavoring  to  prove  to  some  young 
associates,  the  correctness  of  his  frequently  repeated  assertion,  that 
his  cider  was  equal  to  wine.  Poor  Elkanah,  who  had  become  weary 
of  his  repeated  embassies  to  the  cellar,  and  was  somewhat  sleepy 
withal,  had  mistaken  the  direction,  and  produced  a  stale  bottle  from 
a  range,  which  had  proved  worthless ;  and,  when  Ethan,  who  was 
waiting  for  the  applause  of  his  guests,  whose  glasses  he  had  filled, 
found  himself  repaid  with  shouts  of  laughter,  and  perceived  the 
cause,  he  could  not  restrain  his  anger,  highly  excited  as  he  was 
already,  by  the  cider  he  had  drunken.  He  dealt  the  poor  child  a 
terrible  kick  with  his  cowhide  boot,  and  was  in  the  act  of  stepping 
forward  to  repeat  it.  —  At  that  moment,  Kitty  was  stirring  up  the 
fire ;  she  had  the  tongs  in  her  right  hand.  She  marked  the  harsh 
ness  of  her  husband,  and  heard  the  cry  of  her  favorite  child  ;  in  an 
instant  she  seized  the  boy's  arm  with  her  left  hand,  and  drew  him 
behind  her,  out  of  the  reach  of  her  husband's  grasp ;  at  the  same 
moment,  she  raised  the  tongs  over  her  head,  and,  with  a  single  but 
effectual  sweep,  cleared  the  table  of  its  contents  in  the  twinkling  of 
«a  eye ;  bottles  and  glasses  were  broken  to  atoms  .upon  the  floor 


16  imTY  GRAFTON. 

The  rontending  parties  stood,  for  a  few  seconds,  fiercely  eying 
each  other.  'What  do  you  mean  by  this?'  cried  Ethan,  in  great 
anger.  — '  You  're  a  brute,'  replied  the  exasperated  wife.  — '  Dare 
you  say  this  to  me,  in  my  own  house !  I  '11  make  you  pay  for  it,' 
cried  he,  holding  up  his  finger. — 'Your  own  house!'  she  ex 
claimed,  with  a  look  of  ineffable  derision.  *  Hasn't  my  father  paid 
for  it,  already?'  she  continued,  with  an  expression  of  taunting  bit 
terness. —  'You  shall  answer  for  this,'  cried  Ethan,  boiling  over 
with  anger,  and  stamping  his  foot  upon  the  floor.  —  'I'll  never 
answer  a  drunkard,'  she  exclaimed,  as  she  hurled  the  tongs  upon 
the  hearth.  —  He  stepped  towards  her  in  great  wrath,  but  his  com 
panions  interposed,  and  held  him  back,  wbile  his  highly-exasperated 
wife  walked  slowly  out  of  the  room,  leading  off  the  terrified  little 
Elkanah,  who,  never  having  witnessed  such  a  scene  before,  was 
now  made  acquainted  with  a  new  code  of  sensations.  Farmer 
Grafton's  friends  pacified  him,  as  well  as  they  could,  and  took  their 
leave.  As  they  walked  homeward,  one  of  them  observed  that  Ethan 
was  in  the  wrong  to  kick  the  little  boy  as  he  did.  That  was  readily 
admitted  ;  but  anothei  remarked,  that  he  had  as  lief  be  one  of  Sam 
son's  foxes,  as  to  have  such  a  firebrand  tied  to  him  for  life.  A  third 
suggested,  that  he  did  not  believe  there  had  ever  been  any  serious 
disagreement  between  them  before.  All  three  agreed,  however, 
that  Ethan  was  entirely  right  in  one  particular,  and  that  his  cider 
was  certainly  et/ual  to  wine.  Pamela  Mickle  soon  heard  of  the 
affair,  and  nearly  wore  out  a  pair  of  new  shoes,  in  spreading  intelli 
gence  of  this  domestic  uproar  from  one  end  of  Heathermead  to  thd 
other.  The  match  had  turned  out,  as  she  affirmed,  precisely  as 
she  expected  from  the  very  beginning. 

"The  better  sort  of  people  in  Heathermead,  I  mean  not  the 
wealthier,  but  the  Christian  aristocracy  of  the  village,  were  grieved, 
that  old  Jansen's  descendants  should  be  visited  with  any  serious 
affliction.  They  had  remarked,  with  regret,  that  Farmer  Grafton 
was  not  so  attentive  to  his  business  as  he  used  to  be,  and  that 
he  was  getting  somewhat  engaged  in  horse-racing.  In  regard 
to  Ilia  wife,  it  was  admitted,  on  all  hands,  that  her  temper  was 
exceedingly  violent,  when  excited  by  a  sense  of  injustice ;  but  it 
was  agreed,  that  it  did  not  exhibit  itself  upon  ordinary  occasions. 
Indeed,"  said  my  old  master,  "  Kitty  Grafton  had,  not  only  a  gen 
erous,  but  a  magnanimous  spirit.  She  was  an  admirable  house 
wife,  and  devotedly  attached  to  her  husband,  so  long  as  he  deserved 
her  affection.  With  her,  it  was  love  for  love  :  yet  her  affections 
were  n  >t  governed  by  any  selfish  principle.  There  are  gentle 
•pirits,  that  can  suffer  all  but  de^th,  and  yet  love  on.  There  are 


KITTY  QRATTON.  /7 

mt  a  few,  who  still  love  those  barbarians,  with  whom  marriage  i» 
a  milder  name  for  tyranny  —  they  love  and  cling  to  the  very  brutes, 
that  rule  them  with  an  iron  rod,  and  why  ?  —  because  they  are  the 
fathers  of  their  children !  And,  with  such,  this  is  cause  enough 
why  love  should  never  die.  There  are  some,  who  adhere  to 
their  drunken  husbands,  and  seemingly  with  the  same  increasing 
measure  of  devotion,  which  they  themselves  bestow  upon  the  vile 
objects  of  their  idolatry.  They  love  the  very  shadowy  recollections 
of  their  brighter  days  ;  and,  while  those  heartless  wretches,  who  led 
their  confiding  steps  to  the  altar,  yet  crawl,  like  diseased  and 
degraded  reptiles,  upon  the  earth,  the  doting  affection  of  their  fond 
hearts  is  sufficiently  powerful  to  beget  a  moral  ophthalmia,  and  they 
can  perceive  nothing  to  paralyze  their  love.  The  heart  of  Kitty 
Grafton  was  cast  in  a  different  mould  ;  and,  though  kind  treatment 
would  probably  have  preserved  its  affections,  in  all  their  original 
warmth  and  freshness,  neglect  could  not  fail  to  chill  them  through 
— abuse  would  certainly  convert  that  heart  to  stone. 

"  By  what  process  the  reconciliation  between  Ethan  and  his  wife 
was  achieved,  I  cannot  tell.  They  were  at  church  the  next  Sab 
bath  ;  their  conduct  towards  each  other  was  apparently  civil  and 
becoming  ;  but  I  thought  it  was  not  so  affectionate  as  it  had  been.  — 
When  describing  the  Rhone  and  the  Arve,  an  agreeable  writer 
observes:  'The  contrast  between  those  two  rivers  is  very  striking ; 
the  one  being  as  pure  and  limpid  as  the  other  is  foul  and  muddy. 
Two  miles  below  the  place  of  their  junction,  an  opposition  and  differ 
ence  between  this  ill-sorted  couple  are  still  observable ;  these,  however, 
gradually  abate  by  long  habit,  till,  at  last,  yielding  to  necessity,  and 
those  unrelenting  laws  that  joined  them  together,  they  mix  in  perfect 
union,  and  flow  in  a  common  stream  to  the  end  of  their  course.'* 
But  for  these  unrelenting  laws,  how  many  ill-fated  alliances  would 
be  severed  !  How  many  wretched  beings  would  delight  to  break 
away  from  their  loathsome,  drunken  yoke-fellows !  Kitty  Grafton 
had  no  ordinary  share  of  pride  withal ;  and,  next  to  being  happy, 
came  the  desire  of  being  thought  so.  For  a  time,  she  bore  her 
afflictions  in  silence.  If  Ethan  was  more  from  home  than  formerly, 
she  consoled  herself  with  her  children,  and  filled  her  time  and  hei 
thoughts  with  her  domestic  concerns.  Her  little  green-house  and 
garden,  in  the  care  and  cultivation  of  which,  she  had  been  abun 
dantly  instructed  by  her  good  old  father  and  mother,  still  afforded  her 
a  source  of  rational  satisfaction  ;  and,  could  she  have  been  permitted 
to  enjoy  them,  and  to  see  her  children  rising  into  life,  with  a  rea- 

*  Moore's  View  of  Society  in  France,  &c.,  Vol.  I.,  Let.  24. 
VOL.  II.  2* 


18  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

sonable  prospect  of  happiness,  she  might  have  lived  on  contented, 
though  not  absolutely  happy  ,  and  accommodated  herself  to  her  lot, 
as  the  wife  01  a  drinking,  prodigal  hushand  —  for  to  this  degrading 
appellation  Ethan  Grafton  now  bid  fair  to  establish  an  indisputable 
claim. 

"  Among  his  acquaintances,  there  were  some,  who  were  not 
entirely  willing  to  allow,  that  Ethan's  cider  was  equal  to  wine;  and, 
after  a  fair  trial  at  the  Little  Black  Dragon,  a  tavern  in  Heather- 
mead,  upon  thanksgiving  night,  (on  which  occasion,  the  judecs 
were  so  drunk,  that  it  was  impossible  to  obtain  anything  like  a 
righteous  decision  of  the  question,)  it  was  determined  to  cnntinue  the 
matter,  for  further  advisement,  at  Ethan  Crafton's  eottagu,  upon  the 
ensuing  Christmas  eve. 

"  In  the  course  of  those  unprofitable  years,  which  had  followed 
one  another,  like  billows  upon  the  ocean,  since  old  Jansen  died, 
Ethan  Grafton  had  frittered  away  the  estate  in  an  unaccountable 
manner.  Under  the  old  man's  will,  the  fee,  or  full  property  of  the 
estate,  was  in  himself;  and  his  wife  had  no  other  claim  upon  the 
soil,  which  her  father  had  won  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  than  her 
right  of  dower.  Even  this  partial  interest,  Ethan  had  induced  her, 
upon  various  pretences,  to  relinquish,  from  time  to  time,  until  it 
remained  to  her  in  the  cottage  only,  and  a  few  acres  around  it.  The 
ready  money,  which  old  Jansen  had  left,  had  begun,  after  six  or 
eight  months  from  his  decease,  to  disappear.  The  stock,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  years,  were  either  sold,  or  had  died  off;  and,  as 
Ethan  neglected  his  farm,  their  places  were  not  supplied.  In  about 
seven  years  after  Jansen 's  death,  although  there  was  some  show  of 
property,  and  the  stock  of  cider  was  still  kept  up,  (for  the  apples 
grew  without  culture,  and  it  cost  little  to  grind  them,)  yet  it  was 
pretty  well  understood,  that  Ethan  Grafton,  to  use  the  village 
phrase,  was  getting  dreadfully  down  to  heel.  It  would  have  been 
better  for  Ethan,  if  the  real  extent  of  the  small  residuum  of  estate, 
that  he  yet  possessed,  had  been  more  clearly  defined,  in  the  eyes 
of  his  neighbors.  But  he  was  still  supposed  to  be  a  man  of  prop 
erty,  though  his  affairs  had,  somehow  or  another,  become  embar 
rassed.  He  accordingly,  on  the  strength  of  this  delusion,  continued 
in  tolerable  credit ;  and  was  able,  now  and  then,  with  a  little  swag 
gering,  to  borrow  a  few  hundreds ;  and  thus,  by  increasing  the 
burden  upon  his  already  broken  shoulders,  to  complete  the  work  of 
his  destruction.  For  one,  that  knew  how  much  of  Ethan's  property 
was  deeply  mortgaged,  and  how  little  was  clear,  hundreds  in  the 
village  of  Heathermead  were  entirely  unacquainted  with  the  facts. 
He  still,  like  most  other  mortgagors,  was  himself  in  possession. 


KITTY  GKAFTON.  19 

exercising  visible  acts  of  ownership  over  the  property.  How  often 
do  we  witness  the  evil  consequences  of  such  a  condition  of  things  as 
this !  The  man,  who  frequently  reiterates  a  lie,  is  not  more  liable, 
at  last,  to  fancy  it  is  true,  than  the  proprietor  of  mortgaged  premises 
to  believe  they  are  his  own.  How  frequently  such  estates  are 
found,  after  the  death  of  such  nominal  proprietors,  inadequate  tc 
pay  the  debt,  for  whose  security  they  were  conveyed !  Yet  how 
frequently  is  it  the  fact,  that  such  nominal  owners  of  estates,  such 
bona  fide  proprietors  of  nothing,  have  eaten,  and  drunken,  and 
arrayed  themselves,  for  years,  upon  the  strength  of  this  imaginary 
wealth !  Poor  Ethan  Grafton  actually  believed  himself,  even  then, 
to  be  a  man  of  considerable  property ;  and  employed  no  small  part 
of  his  time,  —  when  not  occupied  in  the  demonstration  of  his  ever 
lasting  problem,  that  his  cider  was  equal  to  wine,  —  in  unsuccessful 
efforts  to  obtain  additional  loans,  upon  his  overburdened  estates. 

"  It  was  long  a  mystery,  in  the  eyes  of  those,  who  really  knew 
that  Ethan 'Grafton  had  deprived  himself  of  three  fourths,  at  least, 
of  all  his  estate,  by  what  means  he  had  squandered  his  possessions. 
The  secret  was  well  known  to  a  few.  Neglect  of  his  business 
readily  accounted  for  his  not  growing  richer.  Horse-racing,  betting, 
and  drinking  had  undoubtedly  diminished  his  property,  in  a  very 
sensible  degree.  Still,  however,  the  rapid  loss  of  his  wealth, 
especially  during  the  two  last  years,  was  an  enigma,  which  the 
wiseacres  of  Heathermead  were  utterly  unable  to  explain. 

"  As  the  destruction  of  the  outer  works  is  commonly  among  the 
earliest  operations  of  an  enemy,  so  the  first  manifestations  of  the 
power  of  that  evil  demon,  which  warred  against  the  peace  of  this 
once  happy  family,  were  the  fallen  fences,  and  dilapidated  walls, 
and  broken  windows,  about  the  cottage  at  Heathermead  End 
Kitty  had  long  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  obtain  money  from  hei 
husband,  for  the  common  occasions  of  herself  and  her  children. 
Debts  accumulated  rapidly,  and  duns  became  importunate  and 
troublesome.  One  morning,  Ethan  had  just  finished  his  breakfast, 
of  which  a  portentous  pitcher  of  cider  formed  a  component  part, 
when  he  perceived  Mr.  Bagley,  the  grocer,  riding  towards  the 
cottage.  Ethan  comprehended  his  object,  and  concealed  himself  in 
the  cellar,  previously  directing  Elkanah,  whose  mother  had  stepped 
out,  to  say,  that  he  was  not  at  home.  Old  Gotlieb  had  not  read  the 
Bible  to  his  grandchild  in  vain.  To  the  grocer's  inquiry,  the  boy 
therefore  replied,  that  his  father  had  told  him  to  say  he  was  not  at 
home.  This,  of  course,  produced  an  unpleasant  eclaircissement ; 
and,  when  the  grocer  had  gone,  Elkanah  received  a  buffet,  which 
brought  him  to  the  ground.  This  broken-spirited  boy,  who  had 


20  KITTY  GRAFTQN. 

repeatedly  witnessed  the  dreadful  uproar,  which  arose  between  his 
parents,  in  consequence  of  his  complaints,  suffered  in  silence,  and 
crept,  for  refuge,  to  the  garret. 

"  Notwithstanding  the  immense  quantity  of  cider,  which  Ethan's 
farm  produced,  of  which  he  sold  a  large  amount,  in  barrels  and  bot 
tles,  he  never  seemed  to  have  any  ready  money ;  and,  whenever  his 
wife  attempted  to  get  an  insight  into  his  affairs,  he  told  her  that 
women  were  fools,  and  knew  nothing  of  business.  They  had,  at 
this  time,  one  girl  and  four  boys  ;  and  their  mother,  though  fre 
quently  exasperated  by  her  husband,  still  re*ained  her  maternal 
feelings,  and  patched  and  repatched  the  ragged  remnants  ot  their 
»ittle  apparel ;  and,  as  yet,  though  hopeless  of  their  father,  gave  not 
all  up  for  lost.  Ethan  Grafton  had,  for  some  time,  delivered  large 
quantities  of  his  cider  at  the  distillery ;  and,  of  late,  he  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  receiving  a  few  barrels  of  cider  brandy,  in  part  pay 
ment.  For  more  than  a  year,  he  had  suffered  severely  from  the 
operation  upon  his  system  of  that  malic  acid,  which  abounds  in 
cider,  and  whose  effects  are  perfectly  well  understood  by  medical 
men.  He  had  become  habitually  subject  to  severe  colic ;  he  had 
even  indicated  no  equivocal  symptoms  of  partial  palsy.  But  he 
began  to  feel  essentially  better,  from  the  occasional  employment  of 
the  cider  brandy.  Christmas  eve  was  drawing  nigh,  upon  which 
occasion  the  question  was  to  be  fully  settled  and  determined, 
whether  Ethan  Grafton's  cider  were  or  were  not  equal  to  wine;  and, 
as  he  was  determined  to  establish  its  reputation  beyond  the  possi 
bility  of  all  future  doubt,  —  having  selected  the  bottles  which  he 
designed  to  produce,  he  abstracted  thirty-three  and  a  third  per  cen 
tum  of  their  contents,  and  then  filled  up  the  bottles  with  an  equal 
amount  of  cider  brandy. 

"  When  old  Gotlieb  Jansen  perceived  himself  to  be  surrounded 
by  a  little  progeny  of  the  second  generation,  he  introduced  into  the 
cottage  at  Heathermead  End  a  custom,  associated  with  his  boyish 
recollections  of  '  Fader  Land,'  on  the  borders  of  the  Rhine.  A 
small  tree,  commonly  the  box,  in  its  pot  of  earth,  was  introduced 
into  the  best  room  of  the  cottage,  upon  merry  Christmas  eve  ;  and 
the  old  man,  with  the  assistance  of  Theresa,  scattered  some  gold 
leaf  upon  its  deep  green  foliage,  and  attached  to  its  branches  those 
little  presents,  which  were  designed  for  their  grandchildren.  These 
annual  arrangements  had  been,  for  years,  a  source  of  heartfelt  satis 
faction  to  Gotlieb  and  his  wife ;  and  to  their  youthful  descendants 
an  object  of  delightful  anticipation.  After  the  death  of  her  parents, 
Kitty  Grafton  had  never  omitted  the  custom,  upon  the  return  of  this 
happy  festival.  The  golden  tree  had  never  failed,  once  in  every 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  21 

year,  at  the  appointed  time,  to  spread  its  luxuriant  branches ;  and 
their  little  ones,  happy,  at  least  for  a  brief  season,  had  been  per 
mitted  to  approach  in  order,  and,  with  their  own  hands,  to  gather 
its  valuable  fruit.  Hitherto,  Ethan  himself  had  appeared  to  feel 
some  degree  of  interest  on  these  occasions ;  and,  although  with 
increasing  indifference  to  the  happiness  of  his  children  from  year  to 
year,  he  had  commonly  contributed  a  small  sum  for  the  purchase  of 
those  toys,  which  were  essential  to  their  short-lived  carnival,  upon 
Christmas  eve.  —  Upon  the  present  occasion,  Kitty's  suggestions 
and  hints  were  of  no  avail.  Ethan  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  them  all ; 
and,  to  her  direct  request  for  a  very  trifling  sum,  to  purchase  the 
means  of  happiness  for  the  children  upon  this  occasion,  he  replied, 
with  great  harshness,  that  he  had  not  a  shilling;  and  knew  not 
where  to  get  one ;  and  that  it  was  a  stupid,  German  custom,  and  had 
lasted  long  enough  ;  and  that  he  would  hear  no  more  of  it.  Though 
highly  offended  by  Ethan's  answer,  which  contained  something  like 
a  reflection  on  her  parents,  she,  for  once,  restrained  her  temper,  and 
walked  silently  away.  Her  husband,  probably,  would  not  have 
opposed  her  wishes,  and  denied  his  children  these  long-expected 
pleasures,  which  came  but  once  a  year,  had  he  not  made  an  impor 
tant  engagement  for  that  very  evening.  He  well  knew,  that  more 
than  a  dozen  of  his  associates  were  then  to  assemble  in  his  cottage, 
for  an  object  of  no  less  importance,  than  the  decision  of  a  question, 
in  which  his  feelings  had  become  deeply  involved — whether  Ethan 
Grafton's  cider  were  equal  to  wine.  His  best  apartment  would  be 
required  for  the  use  of  this  convention,  and  Elkanah's  services  would 
be  indispensable.  But  of  all  this  his  wife  suspected  nothing.  We 
are  not  prone  to  call  those  to  participate  in  our  privy  counsels,  who 
are  well  known  to  be  heartily  opposed  to  our  practice  and  our  prin 
ciples  ;  and,  it  is  a  mere  act  of  justice  to  state,  that,  however  excit 
able  and  violent,  the  temper  of  Kitty  Grafton  received  no  adscititious 
stimulus  from  any  intoxicating  liquor.  No  pledged  member  of  a 
thoroughgoing  cold-water  society  ever  abstained  more  rigidly  from 
all  inebriating  drinks.  The  occasional  flashings  of  her  natural  fire 
were  said,  by  those,  who  had  witnessed  them,  to  be  sufficiently 
alarming  —  the  stimulus  of  alcohol  would  probably  have  driven  her, 
sooner  or  later,  during  her  domestic  troubles,  to  madness  or  to 
murder. 

"  When  her  husband  had  thus  refused  to  assist  her,  in  furnishing 
out  the  Christmas  festival  for  their  children,  she  went  up  into  her 
chamber,  and  sat  down  with  her  arms  folded,  and  an  angry  cloud 
upon  her  brow.  She  had  not  continued  long,  ruminating  upon  her 
misfortunes,  (for  every  new  affliction  naturally  served  to  revive  the 


22  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

gloooy  record  of  the  past,)  when  Elkanah,  who  had  been  present 
during  the  conversation  between  his  parents,  crept  up  into  the  apart 
raent.  —  'Mother,'  said  he,  'I  wouldn't  be  worried  about  it;  we 
can  have  our  tree  just  as  well  as  we  had  it  last  year.'  —  She  gazed 
upon  her  first-born  ;  —  her  features,  for  an  instant,  changed  their 
expression  of  anger  for  that  of  sadness  ;  and  her  eyeballs  were  glazed 
by  the  gathering  tears,  which  oozed  from  the  natural  fountain  too 
scantily  to  fall ;  like  the  moisture,  which  occasionally  floats  over  the 
brassy  sky,  during  the  burning  solstice,  but  descends  not  in  shcw- 
ers,  and  is  speedily  absorbed.  '  You  can  have  your  tree,  Elkanah,' 
she  replied,  '  that  your  poor  old  grandfather  took  so  much  pleasure 
to  prepare  for  you,  and  whose  leaves  he  tipped  with  gold  leaf. 
That  is  in  my  closet ;  but  I  have  nothing  to  hang  upon  it  for  you 
all,  as  I  used  to  have.'  — '  Never  mind,  mother,'  said  Elkanah, '  we 
can  do  very  well ;  Richard  has  got  his  hum-top  that  he  had  last 
year,  just  as  good  as  ever  ;  and  Rachel  has  got  her  doll ;  Eli  says 
he  will  hang  up  his  whistle  ;  and,  before  to-morrow  night,  I  can 
whittle  out  a  go-cart  for  Robert.'  — '  And  what  will  you  have  to 
hang  up  for  yourself,  Elkanah ?'  inquired  his  mother;  she  seemed, 
for  a  brief  space,  to  forget  her  misery,  while  listening  to  Elkanah's 
ingenious  device  for  the  celebration  of  the  festival.  A  faint  ray  oi 
sunlight  beamed  upon  her  features,  as  she  contemplated  the  con 
tented  disposition  of  her  child,  who  could  thus  volunteer  to  be  suffi 
ciently  happy  in  the  enjoyment  of  second-hand  pleasures. — 'And 
what,'  she  repeated,  '  will  you  hang  upon  the  tree  for  yourself, 
Elkanah  ]'  — '  I  've  been  thinking,  mother,'  said  he,  *  that  I  should 
like  to  hang  up  the  Bible  that  grandfather  gave  me.' 

"  Christmas  eve  at  length  arrived.  The  tree  had  been  placed  in 
the  centre  of  their  bettermost  room,  its  appointed  place  upon  such 
occasions,  for  many  years ;  and  already  its  branches  bent  beneath 
the  burden,  in  part,  of  its  last  year's  fruit.  Kitty  Grafton,  sur 
rounded  by  her  five  children,  who  were  resolved  to  be  happy,  upon 
any  terms,  was  busily  engaged  in  directing  the  simple  ceremonials 
of  the  fete.  Her  countenance  had  even  lost  that  expression  of  bit 
terness  and  anxiety,  which,  of  late  years,  had  predominated  there. 
The  strength  of  the  maternal  principle  had  subdued  all  foreign  rec 
ollections  for  the  time.  The  almost  unvarying  custom  of  her  hus 
band  to  return,  of  late  years,  at  an  advanced  hour  of  the  night,  had 
relieved  her  entirely  from  all  fear  of  interruption.  The  sound 
therefore,  of  his  well-known  tramp,  on  the  entry  floor,  filled  the 
assembled  group  with  consternation.  Even  the  mother  became  pale 
for  an  instant.  Her  husband's  voice,  calling  loudly  for  Elkanah, 
summoned  the  poor  boy  from  the  apartment.  In  a  short  time  ho 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  23 

returned  with  his  father,  bringing  in  as  many  bottles  of  cider,  as 
they  could  conveniently  carry.  No  sooner  did  Ethan  discover  the 
preparations  for  the  festival,  and  the  tree  in  the  midst,  than  he 
inquire  1,  with  a  terrible  oath,  addressing  himself  to  his  wife,  who 
had  risen  from  her  seat,  if  he  had  not  told  her  that  he  would  have 
no  more  of  such  German  trumpery  in  his  house.  —  '  Have  n't  I  a 
right,'  said  she,  as  the  color  mantled  into  her  face,  — '  have  n't  I  a 
right,  in  my  old  father's  house,  to  make  his  grandchildren  happy?' 

—  'Your  old  father,' said  he,  'was  an  old  German  beggar.'  — 
'  You  are  a  liar,'  she  quickly  replied,  as  she  clenched  her  fist,  and  her 
eyes  shot  fire.  —  Ethan  hastily  put  his  bottles  on  the  floor,  and  all  the 
children  but  Elkanah  ran  screaming  in  terror  from  the  apartment. 
— '  There,'  said  he,  with  another  horrible  oath,  breaking  the  tree  to 
pieces,  and  hurling  the  little  tokens  in  every  direction  — '  that 's  to 
begin  with,  and  now,  if  you  give  me  another  saucy  word,  I  '11  whip 
you  to  a  jelly.'  —  During  this  ebullition  of  wrath,  Elkanah,  unper- 
ceived  by  his  father,  bad  picked  up  his  little  Bible,  and  concealed  it 
in  his  bosom.  — '  O,  father,'  cried  the  agonized  child,  '  beat  me, 
father  ;  I  did  it ;  don't  beat  poor  mother.'  —  '  Get  out,  you  ill-begot 
ten  brat,'  cried  the  infuriated  father. — '  Grafton,' exclaimed  his 
wife,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  rage  and  scorn,  '  I  wish  I  was 
a  man   for  five  seconds,  I  'd  strip  your  tawny  hide  from  neck  to 
heel!'  —  'Father,   father,'   cried    Elkanah,    'look   up   the  road; 
there's  folks  coming.'  —  'I  see  'em,'   said  Ethan  Grafton  to  the 
boy  ;  '  clear  off  this  rubbish  right  away,  and  set  out  the  table  ;  and 
as  for  you,'  turning  to  his  wife,  '  if  I  was  n't  agoing  to  have  com 
pany,  I  'd  jest  cut  a  saplin,  and  strip  you  to  the  skin,  and  tie  you  up 
by  your  two  thumbs,  and,  if  I  didn't  cool  your  German  blood  for 
you.  my  name  's  not  Ethan  Grafton.'  — '  Grafton,'  she  replied,  in  a 
steadier  tone,  moving  slowly  towards  the  door,  '  I  'm  glad  to  be 
gone  from  you  and  your  gang.      There  '11  be  time  enough  to  cut 
your  saplin  when  they  're  gone  ;  but,  if  you  lay  the  weight  of  it  on 
my  body,  I  '11  die  in  the  struggle  but  I  '11  have  your  heart's  blood.' 

—  The  guests  were  at  the  door  ;  Ethan  had  no  time  to  reply  ;  and  he 
bit  his  lip,  and  doubled  his  fist  at  his  enraged  wife,  as  she  proceeded 
up  stairs.     Elkanah  had  cleared  the  room,  and  set  out  the  table,  and 
stood  trembling  in  the  corner,  awaiting  his  father's  commands. 

"  After  such  vulgar  greetings,  and  horse  laughs,  and  slappings  of 
shoulders,  as  commonly  mark  the  first  gathering  of  a  rustic  club, 
the  company  assembled  around  the  table,  upon  which  Elkanah  had 
been  directed  to  place  several  bottles  of  cider  and  a  sufficient  num 
ber  of  glasses.  It  would  be  an  unprofitable  task  to  attempt  a  de- 
•cription  of  those  individuals,  who  were  convened  in  Ethan's  cottage, 


24  KITTY  GRAFTUN 

for  the  purpose  of  settling  the  *  cider  question.'  Next  to  Dick 
Dagget,  the  butcher,  who  had  relinquished  business,  and  retired 
upon  a  handsome  reserve,  after  cheating  his  creditors  out  of  seven 
eighths  of  their  lawful  demands,  the  most  important  personage  was 
Dr.  Pullet,  a  rubicund,  full-favored,  notable  blackleg,  who  had  a 
local  habitation  and  a  name,  in  many  towns  and  villages,  in  which 
he  had  exercised  his  skill,  by  filching  the  unwary  of  their  cash  in 
hand  ;  and,  if  it  better  comported  with  the  convenience  of  his  cul 
lies,  the  doctor  was  exceedingly  accommodating,  and  would  try  a 
rubber,  for  almost  any  stake,  from  a  stout  gelding  to  a  gooseberry 
tart.  The  residue  of  the  group  consisted  chiefly  of  young  farmers 
and  mechanics,  who  had  long  shown  a  preference  for  Ethan  Graf- 
ton's  cider,  before  the  pleasures  of  their  own  firesides.  — '  What 's 
the  matter,  Grafton?'  inquired  one  of  the  company,  soon  after  they 
were  seated  ;  '  you  look  down  in  the  mouth.'  — '  O,  no  great  affair,' 
replied  Ethan,  scratching  his  head,  — '  Elky,  my  boy,  fetch  the 
corkscrew.'  — '  I  guess  he's  thinking  about  the  cattle  that  Pullet 
won  of  him  last  night,  at  the  Little  Black  Dragon,'  said  one  of  these 
boors,  with  a  reckless  laugh.  — '  I  hope  a  little  matter  like  that 
don't  trouble  ye,  Mr.  Grafton,'  said  Pullet.  —  'The  dogs  take  the 
cattle,'  replied  Ethan ;  '  if  a  body  had  n't  nothing  more  to  be  vexed 
about  than  the  loss  of  a  yoke  of  oxen,  he  'd  be  pretty  well  off,  I 
reckon  — there,  tell  us  what  ye  think  o'  that,'  filling-  their  glasses 
and  pushing  them  round.  —  'That's  royal  cider,  Grafton,'  cried 
Dagget,  smacking  his  lips.  '  But,  for  pity's  sake,  tell  us  whose 
grave  you  're  agoing  to  dig  to-night?  you  're  as  solemn  as  an  owl, 
Ethan;  what's  the  matter?'  —  'Why,'  said  Grafton,  'there's  a 
skillinton,  you  know,  in  every  house.'  —  '  Ha,  ha  !  that 's  it,  is  it?' 
cried  Dagget ;  '  the  old  black  mare  kicks  up,  does  she,  Ethan?  why 
don't  ye  switch  the  jade  as  I  do  mine  ?'  — '  That 's  well  enough  for 
you,  Dick,'  Ethan  replied,  'but  it  won't  work  quite  so  well  with 
the  German  breed,  I  tell  ye.  I  shall  have  to  try  it  though,  I  guess, 
afore  long.  —  But  let 's  hear  what  ye  think  o'  that  cider.'  —  'Why, 
Mr.  Grafton,'  said  Pullet,  pouring  out  a  fresh  tumbler,  '  this  is 
super-excellent  cider;  there  can  be  no  better;  but,  upon  honor,  it 
is  n't  quite  equal  to  wineS  —  '  That 's  all  you  know  about  it,'  cried 
Ethan.  '  You  're  up  to  cut  and  shuffle,  doctor  ;  but  I  would  n't  say 
much  about  cider  an  I  was  you.  This  here,  that  you  've  been  a 
drinking,  isn't  such  super-excellent  cider  arter  all.  The  old  man, 
Jar  sen,  made  this,  more  than  ten  yeais  ago,  and  it  'slost  its  strength, 
and  g:t  a  leetle  flattish;  if  you  should  drink  a  barrel  on  't,  you 
wouldn't  feel  a  mite  brisker.'  —  'I  don't  know  about  that,'  said 
one  of  the  company,  '  I  'se  drank  only  two  tumblers  and  a  half, 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  25 

and  it  make?  me  feel  pretty  comical  any  how.' — 'I'll  show  ye 
cider,'  said  Ethan.  '  Elky  —  here  —  Elkanah  —  where  's  that  brat 
gone  r  — 4  He  's  asleep,'  said  one  of  the  guests.  —  *  Wake  up,  you 
lazy  dog,'  cried  Ethan,  as  he  pulled  him  violently  by  the  ear, 

*  wake  up,  sir,  and,  if  I  catch  ye  sleeping  agin,  I  '11  give  ye  some 
thing  to  keep  ye  awake,  I  '11  warrant  ye ;  here,  take  a  basket,  and 
bring  up  ten  bottles  from  the  lower  shelf,  and  if  you  bring  the  wrong 
ones,  I  '11  take  both  your  ears  off.'  — Elkanah  rubbed  his  eyes  on 
the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  proceeded  to  the  cellar.  — '  What  do 
you  value  your  gray  mare  at,  Mr.  Grafton?'  inquired  Doctor  Pul 
let.  — ;  My  gray  mare,'  replied  Ethan,  '  why  somewhere  'twixt  one 
and  two  hundred.'  — '  Well,' continued  the  doctor,  'I  don't  alto 
gether  want  to  take  away  that  yoke  of  cattle,  that  I  won  from  you, 
at  the  Dragon,  without  gi\ing  ye  a  chance  to  win  'em  back  ;  I  '11 
put  'em  agin  your  gray  maie,  and  try  another  rubber.'  —  '  Done,' 
cried  Ethan  Grafton,  slapping  the  table  as  he  spoke ;  *  but  here 
comes  my  snail  of  a  boy  ;  let 's  try  the  cider  first  —  what  made  ye 
so  etarnal  long,  ye  lazy  brat?'  —  '  I  come  as  quick  as  I   could, 
father,'  said  Elkanah.  —  *  Ye  lie,  ye  did  n't ;  get  into  the  corner, 
till  I  call   ye,'  said  Ethan,  shoving  him  aside.  —  'There,  tell  us 
what  ye  think  of  that,'  said  he,  as  he  poured  out  the  new  specimen. 
— '  That  caps  all,'  cried  Dagget,  as  he  held  out  his  empty  glass  to 
be  replenished,  '  that  goes  to  the  right  spot  any  how.'  —  '  The  best 
cider  I  ever  tasted  by  all  odds,'  exclaimed  the  doctor.     '  Still  I  '11 
tell  ye  what, — there  seems  to  be  a  —  sort  of  a —  want  of  a  —  kind 
of  a — '     'Haw,  haw,  haw,'  cried  half  a  dozen  voices.     'It's 
pretty  good  cider  I  guess,'  said  Gibbins,  the  journeyman  tailor,  '  for 
it   makes   your  tongue  take  plaguey  long   stitches,  doctor.'  —  'I 
sha'n't  cabbage  any  on  it,  Gibbins,'  cried  the  doctor  rather  angrily. 
— '  Don't  spose  ye  will,'  replied  Gibbins,  with  a  sneer  :  '  how  's  your 
patient,  doctor,  that  I  saw  you  a  physicking  this  morning  ?'  — '  1 
don't  know  what  patient  you  mean,'  replied  the  doctor  gruffly.  — 

*  Why,  don't   you   remember?'  said  Gibbins,  suppressing   an   ill- 
natured  laugh;  'I  mean  Deacon  Lumkins'  jackass.'  —  This  was 
too  much,  before  such  respectable  company,  even  for  a  horse-doctor, 
and  Pullet  threw  a  whole  glass  of  this  admirable  cider  in  the  jour 
neyman  tailor's  face,  who,  having  nothing  in  his  tumbler,  wherewith 
to  return  the  compliment,  hurled  the  vessel  itself  at  the  head  of  his 
antagonist.  —  For  five  and  twenty  minutes,  the  bettermost  room  in  the 
cottage  at  Heathermead  End  was  a  scene  of  the  most  ungovernable 
uproar.    Dagget,  the  butcher,  held  back  the  doctor,  who  had  whipped 
out  his  fleam  from  its  leathern  sheath,  and  with  the  most  frightful 
imprecations  was  rushing  forward  to  bury  it  in  the  tailor's  jugular, 

VOL.   II  8 


26  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

— '  Don't  hold'  him,  Dagget,'  cried  the  little  journeyman  ;  '  let  him 
come  on,  if  he  wants  to  ;  and,  if  I  don't  take  his  measure,  my  name 
is  n't  Billy  Gihoins.' — There  can  be  little  doubt,  if  Dagget's  strength 
had  not  restrained  the  doctoi  from  close  contact  with  his  adversary, 
that  the  tailor  would  have  cu  out  for  him,  in  horrible  style.  For, 
though  excited  by  the  cider,  he  was  comparatively  self-possessed, 
and,  happening  to  have  his  shears  in  his  side-pocket,  he  had  grasped 
them  firmly  with  both  hands,  and,  dropping  on  one  knee,  after  the 
fashion  of  the  middle  rank,  during  the  formation  of  a  defensive  hollow 
square,  he  would  have  awaited  the  doctor's  charge,  and,  in  all  human 
probability,  have  received  him  on  the  point  of  his  professional  bayonet. 
"  After  a  deal  of  soothing  and  persuasion,  the  contending  parties 
were  induced  to  make  the  matter  up.  The  tailor  admitted,  that  he 
did  not  intend  to  disparage  either  of  the  learned  professions ;  the 
doctor  affirmed,  that  he  considered  Mr.  Gibbins  as  respectable  a 
tailor,  as  he  did,  before  their  unpleasant  difference ;  and  the  com 
pany  once  more  resumed  their  seats  around  the  table.  —  Dagget, 
who  really  appeared  disposed  to  act  as  a  peacemaker,  upon  the 
present  occasion,  readily  perceived  that  the  reconciliation  was  not 
precisely  complete  ;  and  endeavored,  while  Ethan  pushed  the  bottle, 
to  revive  the  spirit  of  good-fellowship  among  the  guests.  '  I  raally 
love  cider,'  said  he,  as  he  turned  off  another  glass.  *  I  guess  I  could 
get  along  without  water ;  I  should  miss  cider  though,  dreadfully. 
But  I  '11  tell  ye  what  it  is,  it 's  the  beatemost  stuff  that  ever  was,  to 
make  a  body  feel  crusty.  There  's  old  Miss  Belcher,  my  wife's 
mother,  you  never  see  how  it  acts  on  her ;  two  tumblers  o'  good 
ripe  cider  '11  make  the  old  woman  as  good-natured  as  a  puppy-dog, 
and  she  '11  think  the  children  can't  have  half  enough  mince-pie  and 
apple-dowdy  ;  when  she  takes  about  four,  she  '11  be  as  funny  as  all 
possessed  ;  but,  when  she  gets  six  full  tumblers  under  her  skin, 
then  look  out  for't,  I  tell  ye.  The  steam's  pretty  well  up  then, 
and  there  's  no  safety-valve  but  the  old  woman's  mouth.  She  's  lost 
her  teeth,  you  know,  and  she  does  sizzle  and  sputter  away  like  a 
fury.  She  knocks  the  children  about  like  nothing,  and  gives  nobody 
no  peace,  till  she  's  slept  it  all  off  next  morning.  I  ax'd  McGrudy, 
the  schoolmaster,  who  knows  a'  most  everything,  what  he  thought 
was  the  reason  why  cider  made  folks  crosser  than  any  other  drink, 
End  he  gi'ed  me  a  queer  answer  to  be  sure  :  said  he,  "If  the  ould 
apple  o'  discord  brought  sin  into  the  warld  in  the  beginning,  isn't 
the  juice  or  it  enow  to  kaap  up  a  clish-maclaver  to  the  dee  o'  judg 
ment,  mon  ?"  '  —  The  guests  laughed  heartily  at  Dagget's  humorous 
remarks,  with  the  exception  of  the  doctor  and  the  tai'or.  Their 
gorges  were  evidently  still  up.  Each  sal,  with  a  cigar  in  his 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  27 

mouth,  his  chair  inclined  backward,  and  his  chin  pointed  towards  the 
ceiling.  —  Dagget,  who  had  really  a  great  respect  for  the  doctor, 
was  not  thus  to  be  baffled,  in  his  efforts  to  restore  harmony.  *  Doc 
tor,'  said  he,  '  what  is  the  reason,  that,  while  beer  makes  a  body 
sleepy,  cider  is  such  a  cross  kind  of  a  drink?'  — '  It 's  owing  to  the 
digestion,'  replied  the  doctor  ;  '  it  produces  a  sort  of  pulmonary 
combustibility  in  the  most  vitalest  parts.'  —  The  tailor  cut  his  eye  at 
Ethan  Grafton,  with  a  half-drunken,  half-comical  expression,  as  he 
filled  his  tumbler  — Dagget,  who  had  ever  looked  upon  the  longest 
words  as  the  outward  and  visible  signs  of  the  greatest  learning,  was, 
for  a  moment,  silent.  *  Dr.  Pullet,'  said  he,  after  a  brief  pause,  '  I 
wonder  you  confine  your  practice  entirely  to  horses.1'  —  'Oh,  sir,' 
replied  the  doctor,  '  the  other  branches  of  our  profession  is  over 
stocked.  It  is  an  easy  matter  to  attend  to  the  diseases  of  the  human 
race.  They  can  tell  their  complaints,  Mr.  Dagget.  I  have  always 
devoted  myself  to  the  noble  animal,  sir  ;  but  I  believe  I  must  go, 
Mr.  Grafton.'  — '  Oh,  no,'  said  Ethan,  '  you  have  n't  tasted  my  best 
cider  yet,  by  a  chalk  and  a  half.'  The  doctor,  however,  insisted  on 
the  necessity  of  his  departure,  as  he  was  to  meet  a  few  friends,  that 
evening,  at  the  Little  Black  Dragon  ;  he  promised,  however,  to 
recollect  the  rubber,  which  he  had  engaged  to  play  with  Ethan 
Grafton,  upon  a  stake  of  a  yoke  of  oxen  against  the  gray  mare.  — 
'The  doctor's  a  man  o'  great  laming,'  said  Dagget,  after  he  had 
gone.  —  'He's  an  ignorant  ramus,'  said  the  tailor.  —  '  Gibbins, 
you're  no  judge,'  cried  Dagget,  somewhat  nettled.  —  *  A  tailor's 
about  as  good  a  judge  as  a  butcher,'  retorted  Gibbins. — '  I  see  you 
want  to  quarrel  with  me,'  replied  Dagget,  '  though  I  saved  your 
bones  from  being  broken  just  now.'  —  'Come,  come,  don't  let's 
have  any  more  o'  this  tarnal  gabble,'  exclaimed  Ethan,  in  a  roaring 
voice,  '  finish  this  cider,  and  let 's  have  another  lot.  As  to  the  doc 
tor's  laming,  I  'm  no  great  shakes  of  a  judge  myself,  but  he  has  a 
sort  of  a  pleasant,  winning  way  with  him.'  — '  So  he  has,'  replied 
the  tailor  dryly,  '  if  you  '11  let  him  cut  and  shuffle  himself.  He  won 
your  oxen,  Ethan,  and  your  great  white  horse,  slick  enough ;  and 
he  's  won  more  money  of  you  tha*  '  — '  Do  hold  your  tongue,  Gib- 
bins,'  exclaimed  Ethan,  getting  rather  angry,  and  nodding  his  head 
in  the  direction  of  his  boy  ;  '  there  *s  no  need  o'  telling  everything 
to  the  town-crier.  — Here,  you  sir,  Elkanah,  if  you  tell  a  word  you 
hear  in  this  here  room,  I  '11  skin  ye  alive.'  — '  I  won't,  father,'  said 
the  trembling  boy.  —  It  was  at  this  stage  of  the  trial,  that  some  of 
the  junior  judges,  at  the  further  end  of  the  table,  whose  voices  had 
not  been  heard  before,  above  concert  pitch,  began  to  be  rather  up 
roarkms.  The  removal  of  a  great  man  from  an  assembly,  whose 


28  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

presence  has  been  somewhat  oppressive,  will  occasionally  liberate 
interior  spirits  from  their  thraldom.  Such  was  the  obvious  effect 
of  the  doctor's  departure.  The  confusion  of  voices  began  to  be 
immense.  No  one  cared  a  fig  to  understand  his  neighbor,  and  every 
one  strove,  by  elevating  his  own  voice,  to  drown  the  voices  of  all 
others,  and  to  be  heard  alone.  It  is  impossible  to  produce  anything 
like  a  faithful  description  of  the  scene.  Here  were  ten  or  a  dozen 
speakers,  every  one  more  or  less  excited  by  his  potations  of  Ethan's 
cider,  and  each  in  his  own  way  ;  with  some,  anger  prevailed  ;  with 
others,  pride  ;  and  with  others,  simple  good-nature  and  a  feeling  of 
mawkish  philanthropy.  The  continual  strife  of  tongues  begat  thj 
most  unintelligible  jargon  ;  words  ran  foul  of  one  another  in  every 
direction  ;  sentences  were  dislocated,  and  parts  became  strangely 
dovetailed  together  in  the  oddest  of  all  imaginable  connections.  Of 
the  little  that  was  meant  almost  nothing  was  understood.  The 
absurdity  of  the  scene  must  have  been  surprisingly  heightened,  by 
the  wildest  gesticulations  ;  every  vessel  occasionally  dancing  on  the 
table,  as  the  speakers  gave  it  a  tremendous  slap  by  way  of  enforcing 
their  remarks  ;  and,  now  and  then,  there  might  be  heard  the  crash 
of  broken  bottles,  shattered  for  sport,  or  by  way  of  testing  their 

relative  strength. '  I  've  drank  wine  in  my  time,  I  reckon,  as 

well  as  yourself,'  cried  a  dapper  little  fellow.  —  Pshaw!  that  last 
bottle  was  a  —  Holloa —  When  I  sold  meat,  I  always  used  to  favor 
the  poor  —  No  great  shakes  neither  —  I  '11  bate  ye  a  dollar —  'Tisn  t 
in  the  like  o'  you  —  That  are  colt  will  go  —  Sir,  nobody  pitches  me 
on  the  point  o'  rationality  —  I  feel  for  the  poor  —  Fill  your  glasses, 
my  boys,  and  let's  see  if  this  here  cider  isn't  equal  to  —  Fire  and 
fury,  I  got  the  burning  eend  o'  my  cigar  right  into  my  mouth  — 
Wouldn't  give  the  vally  o'  my  bodkin  for  all  he  knows  about  — 
My  old  mare  's  able  to  —  Slam  bang  —  There  she  goes  —  Crash  — 
Haw,  haw  —  Crash  —  More  bottles  I  say — Last  town-meeting  day 
1  —  Hold  your  yop  —  I  won't  —  It 's  a  lie,  that 's  flat  —  I  say  as  1 
said  afore,  he  's  an  ignorant  ramus  —  If  you  say  — Come,  fill  your 
glasses  —  That's  what  you  sha'n't  —  Say  it  agin,  and  I'll  run  my 
fist  down  your  —  I  say  he  's  an  ignorant  ra  —  Whack  —  Crack  — 
Take  that  —  Take  care,  Dagget ;  he  's  got  his  shears  out — I  don't 

care  the  vally  of  a  sausage  for  his  —  Crack,  crack,  whack. 

Over  went  the  table,  lights,  and  glasses.     The  butcher  and  the  tailor 

were  in  a  moment  rolling  on  the  floor. Take  away  the  villain's 

shears  —  I've  got  'em  —  Pull  'em  apart  —  No,  no;  let  'em  fight  it 
out  —  Peg  him  well,  Dagget  —  It 's  a  tarnal  shame  —  There  comes 
the  claret —  Cry  enough,  Gibbins,  or  you  '11  never  take  another  stitch 
in  this  world  —  Gie  me  my  shears  —  I  won't  —  Well,  enough,  then. 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  29 

At  this  stage  of  the  performances,  Ethan  had  seized  Elkanah, 

who  had  fallen  asleep,  notwithstanding-  this  uproar,  for  it  was  now 
late  at  night.  The  boy  screamed  aloud,  under  the  severe  buffets  of 
his  drunken  father  —  the  door,  at  that  instant,  flew  open,  —  Kitty 
Grafton  i  ashed  into  the  apartment,  and,  seizing  Ethan -by  his  shaggy 
black  hair,  hurled  him  to  the  ground.  It  was  the  work  of  a  mo 
ment.  Disabled  as  he  was  by  drunkenness,  he  rose  for  a  last  effort ; 
and,  grasping  a  junk  bottle,  he  gave  her  a  terrible  blow  upon  the 
side  of  her  head.  She  fell  immediately  upon  the  floor,  and  the  bl  tod 
spirted  copiously  from  the  wound.  Elkanah  had  rushed  into  the 
road,  crying  murder  ;  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  nearest  cottage  soon 
hurried  to  the  spot.  It  was  at  first  supposed,  that  the  blow  had 
proved  fatal ;  but,  after  half  an  hour,  the  poor  woman  uttered  a 
groan,  and  gradually  recovered  her  senses.  Even  this  brutal  hus 
band  seemed  to  be  shocked,  by  the  contemplation  of  his  own  near 
approach  to  the  gallows  ;  and,  for  a  whole  week,  he  abstained  from 
intoxicating  drink.  On  the  first  day  after  this  event,  he  even  labored 
diligently  in  the  field ;  and,  when  he  came  home  at  night,  Elkanah  ran 
to  his  mother  in  amazement,'  as  she  lay  upon  her  sick  bed,  exclaim 
ing,  '  Oh,  mother,  only  think,  father  has  come  home,  and  he  isn't 
diunk  in  the  least.' — After  this  terrible  catastrophe,  the  company 
dispersed  with  all  possible  expedition  ;  and,  the  next  day,  when  they 
had  slept  off  the  effects  of  their  debauch,  they  agreed,  with  the  most 
perfect  unanimity,  that  Ethan  Grafton 's  cider  was  equal  to  wine. 

"  During  the  drunken  festival  of  the  preceding  night,  Ethan  Graf- 
ton  had  not  found  it  necessary,  for  the  purpose  of  maintaining  the 
reputation  of  his  cider,  and  establishing  his  boast,  in  its  fullest 
extent,  that  it  was  equal  to  ivine,  to  employ  his  choice  reserve.  The 
bottles,  whose  contents  he  had  enforced  with  cider  brandy,  remained 
untasted  in  his  cellar.  Good  ripe  cider,  containing  from  seven  to 
ten  per  cent,  of  alcohol,  was  enough  for  the  work.  During  the 
week,  which  immediately  followed  this  domestic  outrage,  Ethan, 
who  really  appeared  to  show  some  tokens  of  compunction,  remained 
at  home,  or  upon  the  farm.  A  parishioner,"  said  my  old  master, 
"gave  me  the  first  tidings  of  the  affair.  Neither  Ethan  nor  his  wife 
was  at  meeting,  on  the  following  Sabbath.  In  the  morning  and 
afternoon  Elkanah  occupied  the  pew,  by  himself.  I  had  long  re 
marked  the  melancholy  expression  upon  the  features  of  this  broken- 
spirited  boy.  Upon  the  present  occasion,  I  was  particularly  struck 
with  it.  I  had  preached  on  the  subject  of  prayer,  as  essential  to 
domestic  happiness.  After  the  service,  he  lingered  near  me  for 
some  time.  I  inquired  if  he  wished  to  speak  with  ire.  He  seemed 
exceedingly  embarrassed,  and  the  tears  came  into  bis  eyes.  I  asked 

VOL.  II.  3* 


30  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

him  aside  what  he  desired  of  me  :  he  replied,  that  he  wished  me  to 
pray  for  his  father  and  mother,  for  they  did  n't  love  each  other.  I 
inquired  if  anything  had  happened  :  he  replied,  '  Yes,  sir,  but  I 
have  promised  father,  that  I  would  not  tell.'  —  I  then  informed  him, 
that  I  knew  the  whole,  and  should  surely  pray  for  them  all ;  and 
the  little  fellow  seemed  to  be  comforted. 

"  The  next  morning,  I  went  to  their  cottage,  and  did  my  best.  It 
was  a  hard  case.  Old  Gotlieb  had  often  regretted,  that  Kitty  took 
no  interest  in  her  Bible.  Religious  sentiments  had  never  taken  root 
in  the  heart  of  this  poor  woman,  nor  in  that  of  her  husband  ;  and 
the  present  stubborn  condition  of  the  soil  presented  little  hope  of 
success  in  the  cultivation  of  such  exotics.  I  visited  them  very  often, 
but  it  was  a  vain  attempt.  Each  avoided  me  at  last,  much  in  the 
same  manner  as  I  have  told  you  Ethan  avoided  the  grocer,  who 
came  for  the  amount  of  his  bill.  When  I  first  called,  after  the 
uproar  of  Christmas  eve,  Elkanah  came  running  to  meet  me,  at 
some  distance  from  the  cottage,  begging  me,  with  an  expression  of 
alarm,  not  to  tell  his  father,  that  he  had  asked  me  to  pray  for  them. 
Grafton  received  me  civilly,  and  seemed  to  be  somewhat  ashamed 
of  his  conduct ;  but  he  had  already  recommenced  his  vile  practices. 
As  I  entered,  he  was  coming  up  from  the  cellar,  wiping  his  mouth 
upon  his  sleeve,  and  had  apparently  been  once  more  at  his  cider.  I 
desired  to  see  them  together ;  and,  with  evident  reluctance,  he 
showed  me  up  stairs.  Kitty  was  lying  on  her  bed,  with  a  hand 
kerchief  bound  over  her  forehead.  When  she  saw  me,  '  I  'm  glad 
you've  come,  Mr.  More,'  said  she. — For  a  moment,  I  hoped  I 
might  be  useful,  but  soon  found  myself  mistaken,  when  I  compre 
iended  her  motive.  'I'm  glad  you've  come,'  she  continued,  'to 
see  how  this  villain  has  used  me  :  you  was  a  friend  of  my  old  father 
and  mother.  What  would  they  have  said  to  this !  Look  here,  Mr. 
More,' — removing  the  handkerchief,  and  showing  the  marks  of  the 
blow  —  and  a  severe  one  it  must  have  been.  '  There,  sir,  see  what 
I  've  got  by  marrying  a  drunkard.  If  there  was  a  thing  my  old 
father  hated,  it  was  just  such  a  dirty  drunkard  as  he  is.'  —  'Mi 
More,'  cried  Ethan,  as  he  sat  upon  a  chest,  'jest  hear  to  reason.'  — 
'  You  talk  about  reason  !'  she  cried  ;  '  if  I  was  the  devil  himself,  I  'd 
just  as  soon  talk  about  righteousness,  —  reason  —  reason  to  be  sure 

—  i*  almost  chokes  me  to  look  at  you,  you  base,  drunken  villain.' 

—  '  You  had  better  suffer  your  husband  to  speak,'  said  I  mildly.  — 
'Husband!' — said  she,  with  an  expression  of  rage  and  contempt: 
'he  wants  to  speak,  does  he? --He's  so  drunk  now  you  can't 
understand  him  ;  besides  he  can't  talk  two  minutes,  to  save  his  soul, 
without  a  pitcher  or  a  bottle  of  cider  —  don't  let  the  villain  have  * 


KITTY  ORAFTON.  3* 

bottle  —  he  'II  give  me  another  blow,  as  like  as  not.'  — '  Mrs.  Graf- 
ton,'  said  I,  taking  my  hat,  *  if  I  cannot  be  of  any  use  to  you,  I  will 
take  my  leave ;  I  cannot  be  of  any  use,  unless  I  can  understand  the 
right  and  wrong  of  this  matter ;  and  that  I  cannot  do,  unless  you 
permit  Mr.  Grafton  to  speak.'  —  *  Well,  Mr.  More,'  said  Kitty,  in 
a  lower  and  a  milder  key,  '  you  was  always  kind  to  me  from  a 
child,  and  I  like  to  look  upon  the  friends  of  my  parents ;  and,  for 
your  sake,  I  '11  let  him  speak.'  — '  Sir,'  said  Ethan,  *  I  '11  tell  ye  the 
hull  story,  if  she  '11  let  me.  Ye  see,  doctor — I  mean  Mr.  More'  — 
'  There  now,  did  n't  I  tell  ye  so  ?'  cried  Kitty  ;  '  he  thought  he  was 
talking  to  Doctor  Pullet,  the  gambler,  that  cheated  him  out  of  his 
oxen,  and  his  horse,  and  the  watch  my  old  father  gave  him,  to  keep 

for  Elkanah,  when  he  grew  up,  and  the' '  Stop,  stop,  Kitty,' 

said  I,  Met  him  tell  his  story,  as  you  promised  you  would.'  —  'I 
was  only  a  going  to  say,'  continued  Ethan,  '  that  I  did  take  rather 
too  much  cider  a  Christmas  night,  and  she  pulled  me  over,  afore  all 
my  company,  by  the  hair  6'  my  head;  and,  when  I  was  in  a 
passion,  1  struck  her  with  the  bottle,  and  I  've  been  sorry  ever  since. 
Now,  Mr.  More,  I'm  ready  to  make  it  up  with  her  afore  you. 
There,  if  that  isn't  fair,  what  is?'  —  'Well,'  said  I  to  her,  'what 
do  you  say  to  that,  Kitty?'  —  'I  say,  he  's  a  liar,  and  fool,  and  a 
drunkard,  that's  what  I  say,  Mr.  More,'  said  she.  'He's  a  liar, 
for  he  has  n't  told  half  the  truth  ;  he  knows,  that  I  pulled  him  over, 
because  he  was  half  murdering  Elkanah.  He  's  a  fool  to  think  I  '11 
ever  make  up  with  him ;  not  I  indeed.  I  told  him  long  ago,  that 
I  'd  never  forgive  the  weight  of  his  finger,  laid  on  me  in  anger :  does 
the  fool  think  I  '11  ever  forgive  such  a  blow  as  this !  and  he 's  a 
drunkard,  as  everybody  knows.  I  need  n't  prove  that,  I  suppose. 
He  's  drunk  now ;  he 's  been  guzzling  cider  this  morning,  though  it 
isn't  nine  o'clock.' — 'No  such  thing,'  cried  Ethan,  'I  haven't 
touched  a  drop.'  — '  What  did  you  go  down  cellar  for?  I  heard  the 
cellar  door  open  and  shut.'  — '  What  did  I  go  down  for?  —  I  didn't 
go  for  cider  any  how  —  cider's  got  to  hurt  me  considerable.  It's 
jest  this,  Mr.  More,  I  'm  a  giving  up  cider  pretty  much,  for  I  find  a 
leetle  cider  brandy  eases  my  pain,  and  makes  me  feel  a  sight  better. 
But  you  see  how  it  is,  Mr.  More ;  I  'm  not  a  going  to  call  hard 
names,  as  she  does;  that  isn't  what  I  calls  Christian.  You  see 
what  a  firebrand  she  is.  This  is  all  I've  got  to  say,  you  see 
what  she  is.' — Kitty  knit  her  brows  and  compressed  her  lips, 
and  seemed  to  be  gathering  her  strength,  for  an  explosion  of  some 
sort ;  and  Ethan,  as  she  turned  her  eyes  upon  him,  seemed  to  cower 
before  the  impending  tempest.  — '  Yes,'  said  she,  after  a  brief 
pause,  '  you  see  what  she  is'  —  pointing  to  her  wound,  which  the 


32  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

agitation  of  her  feelings  had  caused  to  bleed  afresh  —  *  you  see  what 
she  is  —  a  poor  broken-headed,  and  broken-hearted,  but  not  broken- 
spirited  woman  — thank  God  and  the  blood  of  my  old  German 
father  for  the  last;'  and,  as  she  uttered  these  words,  she  set  her 
teeth  and  clinched  her  fist,  and  looked  at  Ethan,  with  mingled 
defiance  and  contempt.  —  '  You  see  what  she  is  —  the  mother  of  five 
starving  children — the  wife  of  an  unfeeling,  brutal  drunkard. — 
Ethan  Gmfton,'  she  cried,  raising  herself  upon  her  bed,  while  her 
countenance  underwent  an  astonishing  change, —  'you  once  saw 
what  she  was."1  —  I  confess,"  said  my  old  master,  "  with  my  perfect 
recollection  of  her  great  beauty  and  many  attractions,  in  her  youth, 
the  tone,  in  which  she  uttered  these  words,  touched  me  to  the  soul. 
—  Her  voice  faltered  ;  its  accents  became  comparatively  gentle  ;  her 
lips  quivered  with  intense  emotion  ;  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  — 
'Ethan  Grafton,'  she  repeated,  'you  once  saw  what  she  was — she 
was  young  and  light-hearted,  and  the  bard  earnings  of  her  father — 
whom  you  delight  to  call  an  old  German  beggar  —  God  forgive  you, 
for  she  never  will  —  those  hard  earnings,  and  they  were  abundant, 
were  all  marked  for  her  own.  When  she  had  given  you  her  heart, 
this  poor,  confiding  idiot  persuaded  her  doting  father  to  bestow  those 
hard  earnings  upon  you.  If  you  had  not  broken  her  heart,  she 
would  neither  sorrow  nor  sigh  for  her  wasted  possessions.  And 
what  has  made  her  the  firebrand  that  you  say  she  is  ?  Was  she  not 
always  a  kind  wife  and  devoted  mother,  until  you  took  your  ill 
courses?  Did  she  ever  give  you  one  unkind  word,  until  you 
became  a  drunkard?  Did  she  ever  dream  of  raising  a  finger  against 
you,  until  you  lifted  your  own  unnatural  hand  against  your  unoffend 
ing  children,  the  bone  of  her  bone  and  the  flesh  of  her  flesh?  Might 
not  the  violence  of  her  temper  have  slumbered  forever,  if  you  had 
not  become  a  spendthrift,  and  a  gambler,  and  a  sot?  —  Look  at  him, 
Mr.  More ;  the  brute  is  half  asleep.'  —  So  indeed  he  seemed.  '  Why 
do  I  waste  my  breath  upon  such  a  drunken  carcass?'  she  exclaimed. 
"  It  was  an  impracticable  case,  as  I  told  you,"  said  my  old  mas 
ter.  "  I  inquired,  if  she  ever  read  her  Bible.  She  frankly  con 
fessed  that  she  never  did.  She  said,  that  Elkanah  had  sometimes 
come  and  sat  down  by  her,  at  the  bed-side,  and  read  portions  of  the 
Psalms ;  but,  that  her  brain  seemed  to  be  on  fire  so  continually,  that 
she  took  no  pleasure  therein,  nor  in  anything  else.  She  even 
declared  to  me,  that  she  believed  she  was  losing  her  interest  in  her 
children.  When  I  left  the  cottage,  Elkanah  went  with  me  a  few 
rods  upon  my  way.  The  poor  boy  solicited  permission  to  come  and 
live  with  me  :  and,  in  the  very  earnestness  of  his  desire,  as  he  enu 
merated  the  different  ways,  in  which  he  could  make  himself  useful 


GRAFTON.  33 

in  my  service,  I  turned  from  him  to  hide  my  emotion.  I  bade  him 
remember,  that  we  were  all  born  into  a  state  of  trial ;  that  he  was 
called,  at  an  early  age,  to  bear  his  cross ;  that  it  was  not  a  light  one ; 
but  that  God  would  surely  support  him.  I  reminded  him,  that  his 
three  brothers  and  his  sister  were  almost  dependent  upon  him,  in  the 
present  state  of  the  family.  As  we  parted,  he  kissed  my  hand  — 
his  eyes  were  full  of  tears — '  Mr.  More,'  said  he,  '  if  I  do  the  best 
I  can,  you  will  pray  for  me,  won't  you,  sir?'  —  'I  will  —  I  will, 
my  poor  child,'  said  I,  '  to  that  God,  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the 
shorn  lamb.'  —  He  went  back  to  the  den  of  wretchedness,  no  doubt, 
with  fear  and  trembling,  and  I  pursued  my  way  to  the  parsonage  ; 
revolving  various  projects,  for  the  relief  of  this  miserable  household, 
yet  fixing  definitively  upon  none. 

"  The  notoriety  of  this  shameful  affray  spread  far  and  wide,  and 
became  the  signal  for  the  gathering  of  those  gregarious  troubles  and 
vexations,  which,  saith  the  proverb,  seldom  come  alone.  One 
opprobrious  tale  is  frequently  the  nest-egg  of  infamy. — Pamela 
Mickle  had  scarcely  ceased  to  cackle,  upon  the  present  occasion, 
when  every  hen  in  the  village  of  Heathermead  began.  Many  dis 
reputable  facts  were  speedily  related  of  Ethan  Grafton  ;  and,  as  it 
commonly  occurs,  they  were  of  both  kinds,  described  by  the  worthy 
Dr.  Witherspoon,  such  as  have  never  happened,  and  such  as  have. 
The  voice  of  the  people  was  decidedly  in  Kitty's  favor.  All  agreed 
that  her  temper  was  tremendous  ;  but  the  conviction  was  very  gen 
eral,  that  it  had  never  interfered  with  Ethan's  domestic  happiness, 
while  he  was  temperate;  and,  that  the  same  strength  and  impetu 
osity  of  feeling,  which  had,  of  late,  directed  her  words  and  actions 
against  him,  had  guided  her  tongue  and  her  heart  as  zealously  in 
his  favor,  until  he  came  to  prefer  his  cups  to  her  affection  and  re 
spect. 

"  Duns  began  to  press  from  every  quarter.  If,  in  poor  Grafton 's 
conscience,  there  yet  remained  a  spot  unseared,  there  seemed  to  be 
no  lack  of  special  mortifications  for  its  trial  to  the  quick.  The  cider 
manufacture,  however,  was  now  at  an  end.  Kitty  used  to  say,  that 
she  should  have  rejoiced  over  the  cause,  though  it  swept  oft"  her 
paternal  acres,  had  the  remedy  been  applied,  before  the  disease  was 
past  a  cure.  Several  mortgagee^jentered  for  non-payment,  and  took 
possession  of  their  mortgaged  premises,  which  included  not  only 
Ethan's  extensive  orchards,  but  all  the  real  estate  left  by  old  Jar- 
sen,  excepting,  as  I  have  stated,  the  cottage  and  a  small  parcel  of 
land  around  it ;  which  he  could  not  mortgage,  as  she  had  resolutely 
refused  to  relinquish  her  right  of  dower.  Ethan  therefore  looked 
upon  his  remaining  stock  of  cider  and  cider  brandy  as  upon  his  last 
hope.  Nevertheless  he  continued  to  drink  on  and  be  drunken. 


34  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

"  Dr.  Pullet  was  a  man  of  honor,  and  had  faithfully  kept  his 
flrord :  the  promised  rubber  had  been  long  since  played,  at  the  Little 
Black  Dragon  ;  the  fortunate  cards  were  never  missing  from  the 
doctor's  pack ;  and  high,  low,  jack,  and  the  game  had  settled  the 
fate  of  Ethan's  gray  mare. 

"  It  was  long  after  this  occurrence,  that  Kitty  Grafton,  by  per 
mission  of  the  mortgagee,  to  whom  the  land  now  belonged,  had  gone 
with  Elkanah  into  a  wood  lot,  in  which  her  father  had  taken  no 
small  portion  of  a  husbandman's  pride,  to  pick  up  the  fallen  lirnbs 
for  fuel.  She  had  been  absent  a  couple  of  hours.  As  she  was 
returning,  the  younger  children  ran  to  inform  her,  that  a  strange 
man  had  come  with  a  cart,  and  taken  away  all  the  flowers' in  the 
green-house.  This  little  building  had  been  suffered  hitherto  to 
remain  undisturbed.  Most  of  the  glasses  had  long  since  been  de 
stroyed,  and  Elkanah  had  shown  himself  exceedingly  clever,  in  sup 
plying  their  places  with  oiled  paper.  It  served  sufficiently  well  to 
shelter  a  few  flowers  and  shrubs,  which,  through  all  her  troubles, 
Kitty  Grafton  had  still  delighted  to  cherish.  Several  of  them  were 
perennials.  Of  these  there  were  some,  which  she  particularly 
valued  —  they  had  been  fostered  by  the  hands  of  her  father  —  she 
had  often  been  present,  when  the  old  man,  from  year  to  year,  after 
delving,  and  pruning,  and  irrigating,  had  brought  these  beautiful 
exotics  to  display  their  utmost  charms,  and  had  called  Theresa  to 
contemplate  their  beauty.  —  Two  of  these  had  been  objects  almost 
of  veneration  with  Gotlieb  Jansen  —  they  were  from  'Fader  Land.1 
Such  considerations  as  these,  had  they  been  faithfully  revealed, 
would,  in  all  probability,  have  imbued  the  spoiler  with  about  the 
same  measure  of  restraining  grace,  that  a  wolf  might  be  presumed 
to  feel,  when  informed,  that  the  lamb,  upon  which  he  feeds,  was 
the  pet  of  some  gentle  shepherdess.  Kitty  Grafton  hastened  to  the 
spot,  and  gazed,  with  a  look  of  grief  and  indignation,  upon  the 
vacant  shelves.  Nothing  remained,  save,  here  and  there,  a  rem 
nant  of  the  clematis  and  the  passion-flower,  which  she  had  trained 
against  the  wall,  and  whose  roots  and  main  branches  had  been 
hastily  torn  away.  She  had  not  long  returned  to  the  cottage, 
before  she  obtained  an  explanation,  from  an  old  darne,  who  was  pass 
ing  on  horseback  to  HeathermeacL  from  the  next  village,  with  her 
panniers  of  cream,  and  eggs,  and  herbs,  and  poultry,  for  sale.  Of 
lale  years,  she  had  commonly  stopped  at  Kitty  Grafton 's  cottage 
and  taken  bunches  of  flowers  to  sell,  for  which  she  generally  found 
a  ready  market,  in  Heathermead  Centre.  The  old  dame,  about 
three  miles  back,  had  met  the  man,  on  his  way  to  the  city,  with  the 
whole  stock  of  the  green-house  ;  and  gathered  all  the  particulars, 


KITTY  QRATTON.  36 

which  she  proceeded  to  recount.  Ethan,  it  seems,  had  gambled 
the  plants  away  to  Dr.  Pullet,  a  fortnight  before,  and  having,  that 
morning,  informed  him  of  his  wife's  absence,  the  doctor  had  sent  his 
messenger  to  remove  them  to  the  city  for  sale,  as  expeditiously  as 


Kitty  Grafton  bit  her  lips  ;  but  she  neither  wept  nor  raved. 
Her  silence,  upon  such  occasions,  was  portentous.  It  was  that 
ominous  stillness  that  precedes  the  hurricane  ;  and  she  took  her 
revenge. 

' '  Ethan  did  not  return,  till  a  late  hour  of  the  night.  He  came,  curs 
ing  and  swearing,  into  the  house,  anticipating  Kitty's  wrath,  and  pre 
ferring  an  uproar  of  his  own  creating.  This  evidence  of  sagacity  was 
entirely  compatible  with  drunkenness.  He  had  obtained  liquor  some- 
wl.3re,  and  was  certainly  drunk — drunk  enough  to  be  dry.  His  first 
thoughts  were  of  cider,  and  his  first  step  towards  the  cellar.  —  *  Give 
me  a  light,'  he  cried,  as  he  stumbled  towards  the  door.  '  Elkanah,' 
said  Kitty  Grafton, '  don't  you  hear  ?  Jump  in  a  moment  and  get  your 
father  a  light.'  — '  Why  — a — holloa,  Kitty — why  that 's  you  now, 
how  kind  o'  civil  you  be.  Like  as  may  be  not — we  '11 — we  '11  be 
happy  yet. — I  feel  a  kind  o'  happy  now — a — holloa,  Elky  dear, — 
let 's  have  a  little  cider  to  show  your  poor  old  daddy  the  way  to  the 
candle.' — Elkanah  gave  the  light  to  his  mother,  who  handed  it  to  her 
husband.  —  'Take  care,  Ethan,'  said  she,  as  she  opened  the  cellar 
door,  '  don't  you  fall  ;  you  know  how  I  should  miss  you,  if  you 
should  break  your  neck.'  — '  Thank  ye,  Kitty,'  said  he  as  he  pro 
ceeded  slowly  down  the  cellar  stairs  ;  '  this  is  jest  as  it  wa  —  was 
in  old  times.  I  can't  help  crying,  you  're  so  —  why,  what  makes 
the  brandy  smell  so  strong  —  holloa,  I  've  cut  my  foot  with  a  glass 
bottle.'  —  'Cut  your  throat  with  another,  you  mean,  drunken 
beast,'  cried  Kitty  Grafton,  as  she  slammed  to  the  cellar  door  and 
fastened  it  upon  her  husband.  —  Ethan,  drank  as  he  was,  soon  per 
ceived  that  he  was  imprisoned.  After  many  ineffectual  kicKS  and 
curses,  he  found  release  impossible,  and  he  sought  in  vain  for  com 
fort  where  he  was.  Every  bottle  had  been  demolished.  Kitty  had 
given  a  long  hour  to  the  work  of  destruction.  Every  barrel  and 
keg  had  been  staved  ;  and  the  cellar  floor  was  soaked,  with  a  mixture 
of  cider,  perry,  and  cider  brandy.  Ethan  raved,  and  vowed  eternal 
vengeance.  Kitty  made  no  reply ;  but,  securing  the  cellar  door  with 
a  few  nails,  she  threw  herself  upon  her  bed  for  the  night,  telling 
Elkana.i,  if  he  let  his  father  out,  he  would  certainly  murder  them  all. 

"  Tl .)  next  morning,  she  drew  the  nails,  as  silently  as  possible  ; 
and,  setting  the  cellar  door  wide  open,  placed  herself  behind  it,  and 
waited  the  madman's  approach.  He  soon  came  forth,  uttering  tor- 


36  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

rents  of  oaths  and  imprecations,  and  armed  with  a  stick  of  wooa. 
which  he  had  picked  up  in  the  cellar.  He  saw  no  one  but  Elkanah , 
and  upon  him  he  poured  out  his  wrath.  —  *  Why  did  n't  you  let  me 
out,  you  young  hell-hound?'  said  he,  rushing  towards  him  with  his 
uplifted  stick.  —  'Oh,  father  —  father!'  cried  the  poor  boy,  as  he 
fell  on  his  knees,  and  lifted  his  clasped  hands  for  mercy.  Ethan 
seized  the  lad  by  the  shoulder,  and  lifted  his  stick  in  the  air  —  the 
blow  was  about  to  fall,  when  he  felt  himself  violently  drawn  back 
by  the  hair  of  his  head.  —  He  suddenly  turned,  while  his  eyes  glared 
in  horror  upon  the  newly-sharpened  carving-knife  within  two  inches 
of  his  throat.  —  'Beg  your  life,  you  poor  brute!'  cried  Kitty,  as 
she  advanced  the  point  slowly  to  his  very  windpipe.  — '  Oh,  don't 
—  don't — mother,'  cried  Elkanah.  — '  Will  ye  beg  your  life,  you 
drunken  wretch?'  said  Kitty,  as  she  held  him  with  the  grasp  of 
a  tigress.  —  'Murder,  murder!'  cried  Ethan,  white  his  eyeballs 
seemed  to  start  from  their  very  sockets.  He  made  a  strong  effort, 
and,  escaping  from  her  grasp,  rushed  into  the  road. 

"  It  would  be  needless  to  pursue  this  painful  and  disgusting 
detail.  He  vented  his  rage,  after  dark,  upon  Kitty's  flower-garden. 
In  the  morning  not  a  vestige  of  it  remained.  He  did  not  even 
spare  the  little  compartment,  which  his  poor  children  had  been  per 
mitted  to  cultivate  for  themselves. 

"  Years  rolled  on  —  years  of  sheer  misery,  and  domestic  warfare. 
When  Ethan  came  home  drunk,  she  used  to  beat  him  with  the 
broomstick  or  the  poker.  He,  in  return,  when  he  had  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  the  liquor,  would  cut  up  her  clothes,  and  sell  the 
apparel  of  his  children  by  piecemeal,  whenever  he  could  lay  his 
hand  upon  any  portion  of  it.  When  he  was  not  so  drunk  as  to 
afford  his  wife  a  fair  prospect  of  success,  in  a  direct  personal 
encounter,  she  would  sometimes  try  her  skill  at  long  shot.  While 
he  has  been  sitting,  partially  tipsy,  within  the  cottage,  she  has  been 
seen  with  her  apron  full  of  stones,  on  the  outside,  taking  deliberate 
aim  through  the  window-glass  at  her  lord  and  master,  and  not 
unfrequently  with  the  fatal  precision  of  a  skilful  engineer.  In  the 
mean  time,  their  poor  children  were  growing  up  in  a  full  knowledge 
of  much,  which  they  ought  not  to  have  known,  and  in  utter  igno 
rance  of  those  matters,  of  which  the  children  of  worthy  parents,  at  a 
similar  age,  are  commonly  informed.  The  degradation  of  Ethan 
and  his  wife  appeared  to  be  complete  ;  their  chief  employment  seemed 
to  be  the  infliction  of  all  possible  annoyance  upon  each  other  ;  their 
appearance  had  become  squalid  and  miserable  ;  their  children  were 
the  most  wretched  and  ragged  little  group  in  the  village.  They 
lived  literally  from  hand  to  mouth.  Elkanah  labored  industriously 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  37 

He  "was  now  rather  more  than  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  he  culti 
vated  a  portion  of  the  land  about  the  cottage.  The  neighbors  were 
kind  to  him  ;  and,  notwithstanding  her  wild  and  ferocious  behavior, 
Kitty  Grafton  was  still  an  object  of  pity  and  regard  with  many  of 
our  villagers.  .There  was  a  farmer,  whose  name  was  Jason  Lam 
bert.  He  had  been  one  of  Kitty  Jansen's  lovers,  but  had  long  been 
married,  and  the  father  of  several  interesting  children.  If  happi 
ness  ever  found  a  resting-place  on  earth,  it  was  by  the  fireside  of 
this  pious  family.  Jason's  wife,  upon  the  suggestion  of  her  com 
passionate  husband,  was  charitable,  in  many  ways,  to  Kitty  Grafton 
and  her  children.  They  had  other  friends.  E.lkanah  was  constant 
at  meeting.  The  Grafton  pew  had  been  sold  on  execution  ;  and, 
after  that  event,  Elkanah  took  his  seat  upon  the  forms  assigned  to 
the  town's  poor^,  I  told  him,  after  meeting,"  said  my  old  master, 
'•  that  he  should  always  be  welcome  to  a  seat  in  our  pew.  He  was 
very  well  dressed  on  the  Sabbath,  and  I  was  somewhat  surprised  at 
the  goodness  of  his  apparel.  It  was  explained  to  me  afterward  : 
The  market  woman,  who  used  to  dispose  of  Kitty's  flowers  and  such 
other  trifles  as  she  had  to  sell,  had  lost  her  only  son,  who  was  about 
Elkanah  *s  age  ;  and,  moved  by  compassion  for  this  poor  youth,  she 
had  made  him  a  present  of  the  Sunday  suit,  which  her  own  child 
had  worn.  Elkanah  was  obliged,  when  he  took  them  off,  on  Sab 
bath  evening,  to  conceal  them  from  his  father,  who  would  certainly 
have  sold  them  for  rum,  had  they  fallen  in  his  way. 

"Time,  at  length,  produced  a  change,  in  the  affairs  of  this  miser 
able  family  ;  and,  if  it  came  too  late  to  enable  Kitty  Grafto  i  to 
recover  from  her  degradation,  and  to  take  a  new  departure  foi  the 
voyage  of  life,  it  was  certainly  productive  of  some  important  res  Jts. 
Ethan  had  been  employed,  by  some  charitable  neighbor,  to  take  his 
grist  to  mill.  On  his  way  he  contrived  to  get  miserably  drunk  ; 
and,  on  his  return,  fell  from  his  horse  head  foremost  upon  the  frozen 
ground,  and  broke  his  neck.  When  the  news  was  brought  to  Kitty, 
that  Ethan  was  dead,  '  The  Lord  is  merciful  at  last,'  she  cried,  '  and, 
if  Ethan  Gr  ifton  had  not  made  me  a  beggar,  I  'd  gladly  give  you  a 
trifle  for  il  ',  good  news.  The  devil  has  got  his  own,  and  upon  his 
own  terms  ,00.'  —  The  wretched  condition  of  the  family  made  it 
absolutely  necessary,  that  Ethan  Grafton's  remains  should  be  buried 
from  the  poor-house.  Some  of  the  neighhors  endeavored  to  persrade 
Kitty  to  look  upon  him  once  more,  before  he  was  committed  to  the 
ground.  But  she  resolutely  refused.  'I'll  not  pretend  to  mourn,' 
said  she,  '  when  1  re;oice  ;  and  you  'd,  every  one  of  you,  be  as  happy 
as  I  am,  to  have  such  a  mill-stone  cut  away  from  your  necks.  Tn 
be  sure  I  'd  rather  look  upon  him  dead  ihan  living,  but  I  desii-*  tc 

VOL.    II.  4 


38  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

-do  neither.  He  's  run  his  drunken  race.  — It 's  God's  will,  and  I ']] 
be  the  last  to  gainsay  it.'  —  The  funeral  took  place  upon  the  follow 
ing  day  ;  and  it  was  sufficiently  unceremonious,  to  quadrate  with 
the  notions  of  those,  who  are  the  most  averse  to  pomp  and  pageantry. 
At  one  o'clock,  in  the  afternoon,  Purley  Pulsifer,  the  sexton,  arrived 
at  the  poor  house  with  his  hearse,  drawn  by  a  lame  Canadian  pony. 
I  went  thither,  and  made  the  prayer,  which  was  interrupted,  now 
and  then,  by  the  sobbing  of  some  person  present.  —  At  the  conclu 
sion,  I  looked  round  the  room.  — It  was  Elkanah.  Some  kind  person 
had  furnished  a  piece  of  crape  for  his  hat ;  and,  when  the  coffin  had 
been  lifted  upon  the  hearse,  Purley  Pulsifer  took  the  horse  by  the 
bridle,  and  Elkanah,  not  only  the  chief,  but  the  only  mourner,  fol 
lowed  behind.  I  stepped  after  him,"  said  my  old  master,  "  and, 
taking  this  interesting  boy  by  the  hand,  walked  with  him  to  the 
grave.  The  body  was  speedily  committed  to  the  ground.  Purley, 
who  was  an  active  young  man,  stripped  off  his  coat,  and  consumed 
not  more  than  five  minutes  in  filling  up  the  grave.  Familiarity 
certainly  begets  indifference,  if  it  do  not  breed  contempt.  Purley 
Pulsifer  closed  the  gate  of  the  grave-yard  and  mounted  his  hearse  ; 
and,  in  less  than  five  minutes,  he  was  trotting  his  little,  lame  Cana 
dian,  at  the  top  of  his  speed,  against  Boogley  the  butcher's  sorrel 
colt  over  Heathermead  common,  hearse  and  all.  —  I  gave  Elkanah 
a  few  words  of  parting  counsel,  and  requested  him  to  visit  me,  on 
the  following  evening,  at  the  parsonage. 

"  He  came,  at  the  time  appointed,  and  I  received  him  in  my  study. 
I  inquired  after  the  family,  and  he  informed  me,  that  his  mother  hud 
not  said  a  word,  in  relation  to  his  father's  death,  since  the  funeral  ; 
and  that  she  scarcely  opened  her  mouth  to  speak  on  any  subject, 
unless  some  one  of  the  children  spoke  to  her  first.  — I  asked  him,  if 
he  had  thought  of  any  plans  for  the  future  ;  and,  I  confess,  I  was 
pleased  and  surprised,  at  the  good  sense  and  forecast  of  this  poor 
lad,  who  had  been  reared  in  a  den  of  misery  —  the  trembling  slave 
of  a  drunken  father  —  and  who  had  been  favored  with  no  other 
advantages,  than  such  as  he  had  received  from  his  aged  grandparents- 
He  told  me,  that  he  had  often  thought  of  my  counsel  to  him,  and 
that  he  had  tried  to  do  all  he  could  for  his  mother  and  the  other 
children,  though  it  was  very  little.  He  said  that  he  was  then  nearly 
seventeen,  and  that  he  had  often  thought  he  could  do  something 
better  for  them,  and  himself  too,  if  he  went  elsewhere  to  seek  his 
fortune  ;  and  that  he  was  sure  he  should  be  a  great  deal  happier 
anywhere  than  at  home,  where  everything  brought  so  many  dis 
tressing  recollections  to  his  mind.  The  pressure  of  a  peculiar  afflic 
tion,  upon  the  nervous  system  of  this  boy,  had  become  already 


KITTY  GRAFTON  39 

alarming.  How  much  longer  the  same  cause  might  have  continued 
to  operate,  without  producing  madness  or  idiocy,  it  would  be  no 
easy  matter  to  determine.  He  admitted,  in  answer  to  some  in 
quiries  of  mine,  that,  for  years,  his  sleep  had  always  be  en  disturbed 
by  the  fear  of  his  father's  anger  ;  and  that  he  had  often  leaped  from 
his  bed,  while  dreaming  that  his  father  was  pursuing  him,  and  filled 
the  house  with  his  cries,  until  his  mother  had  come  to  awaken  him 
from  these  distressing  slumbers.  He  told  me,  that  when  he  was 
walking  in  the  road,  or  in  the  field,  or  working  in  the  garden,  he 
found  himself  occasionally  affected  with  violent  agitation  ;  and  that, 
at  such  times,  he  was  apt  to  start  and  look  around  him,  in  terror. 
He  stated,  that,  although  he  knew  his  father  was  dead,  and  had 
seen  him  buried  in  the  earth,  he  still  retained  a  vague  and  unac 
countable  dread  of  him  ;  and  that  this  condition  of  mind  had  kept 
him  from  sleeping,  during  the  greater  part  of  the  preceding  night. 

"  I  asked  him,  if  he  had  spoken  to  his  mother  upon  the  subject 
of  leaving  home,  and  ascertained  that  he  had.  She  had  told  him  he 
might  do  as  he  pleased,  and  did  not  even  inquire  into  his  plans,  in 
such  event.  Her  state  of  mind  was  evidently  deplorable.  Her 
care  for  her  children  seemed  now  of  no  higher  order  than  the  solici 
tude,  which  a  hyena  may  be  supposed  to  feel  for  her  whelps.  She 
willingly  attended  to  their  cries  of  hunger,  and  procured  their  food, 
while  they  were  unable  to  obtain  it.  for  themselves  ;  and,  with  the 
same  instinctive  principle  for  her  prompter,  which  impels  the  beast 
of  the  field,  she  gathered  them  into  their  lairs,  and  watched  over 
their  safety,  and  kindled  into  fury,  upon  the  approach  of  an  assail 
ant.  She  appeared  to  care  not,  if  they  were  reared  in  utter  igno 
rance,  and  their  religious  welfare  was  the  least  of  her  concerns.  — 
Her  mind  seemed  not  to  have  lost  its  energy,  when  roused  into 
action  ;  but  her  hopes  had  been  confined  to  the  present  world,  and 
these  hopes  had  been  effectually  blasted.  The  gentle  yet  irresistible 
springs  of  poor  Kitty's  heart  had  lost  their  temper ;  those  fires, 
which,  for  years,  had  burnt  so  fiercely  there,  had  deprived  them  of 
their  elasticity.  Her  mind  therefore  remained  inactive,  unmoved  by 
all  other  impulses  than  those,  which  were  purely  instinctive. 

"  It  was  decided,  that  Elkanah  should  follow  the  bias  of  his  own 
mind,  in  which  there  appeared  to  be  so  much  less  of  waywardness 
or  will  than  of  rational  calculation.  Elkanah's  travelling  equipage 
was  superlatively  simple  :  a  small  bundle,  supported  upon  his 
shoulder,  on  the  end  of  an  oaken  stick,  that  had  belonged  to  old 
Gotlieb  Jansen,  comprised  his  whole  earthly  possessions,  real,  per 
sonal,  and  mixed.  The  poor  fellow  had  suffered  most,  for  the  want 
of  a  pair  of  shoes  ;  on  the  day  before  his  departure,  I  happened  to 


40  KITTY  GKAFTON. 

be  at  Job  Rawlins'  shop,  when  Elkanah  came  in,  to  1  "eg  a  few  ends 
and  the  loan  of  an  awl  t  j  repair  his  old  ones.  Rawlins  was  thought 
to  be  a  crabbed  fellow,  and  I  had  prepared  myself  to  hear  a  surly 
reply,  possibly  a  refusal.  — '  Well,  Elky,'  said  he,  as  he  eyed  the 
boy  over  his  spectacles,  '  you  're  a  going  to  seek  your  fortiu,  I  hear  ' 
— '  Yes,  sir,'  replied  Elkanah,  '  I  'm  going  to  try  to  do  something. 
—  'Well,  boy,'  rejoined  the  shoemaker,  '  I  guess  you  '11  succeed  •. 
you've  had  a  bad  sample  o'  life  to  begin  with.  Let's  see  your 
shoes.  —  Pshaw,  them  aren't  wuth  mending  ;  the  upper  leather  's 
all  rotten;  you  couldn't  walk  ten  miles  in  these  old  brogues.' 
Rawlins  rummaged  over  his  drawers,  and  taking  out  a  stout  pair,  told 
Elkanah  to  try  them  on  ;  they  fitted  him  exactly.  '  There,'  said 
he,  '  how  do  they  feel  ?'  — '  They  seem  very  easy,  sir,'  replied  the 
boy,  as  he  was  proceeding  to  take  them  off;  'I  *ve  no  money  to  buy 
a  new  pair,  and,  if  you  '11  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  have  two  or  three 
ends,  I  '11 '  — '  Pshaw  !'  cried  Rawlins,  '  put  'em  on  agin,  I  tell  ye. 
I  know  you  have  n't  got  no  money,  Elky  :  if  you  ever  get  rich,  and 
come  back  here,  why,  you  may  pay  me  for  'em  ;  they  "re  six  and 
eight  pence  ;  and  if  you  have  a  hard  run,  I  sha'n't  think  nothing 
on  't,  if  you  never  pay  for  the  shoes.'  —  I  was  so  pleased  with  Raw 
lins,  that  I  ordered  a  new  pair  of  whole  boots,  though  I  did  not 
really  need  them  ;  and  told  him  Mrs.  More  would  step  in  the  next 
day  to  be  measured  for  a  pair  of  pattens. 

"  The  next  morning,  at  an  early  hour,  Elkanah  turned  his  back 
upon  the  cottage  at  Heathermead  End.  He  wept  over  his  little 
sister  and  his  brethren,  and  they  mingled  their  tears  with  his.  His 
mother  shed  not  a  tear.  And  when  he  kissed  her  cheek,  and  bade 
her  farewell,  she  only  replied,  '  I  shall  wish  you  dead,  Elkanah,  if 
you  ever  become  a  drunkard.' 

"  The  lad  stopped  at  my  house,  to  take  leave  of  me.  Mrs.  More 
insisted  on  putting  a  few  crackers  into  his  bundle  ;  and,  after  he  had 
gone,  she  told  me,  that  he  had  not  forgotten  the  Bible  which  his 
grandfather  had  given  him  —  she  had  seen  it  carefully  deposited  in 
his  little  pack.  He  took  leave  of  me  with  evident  emotion,  and  I 
gave  him  my  blessing. 

"  A  few  days  after  Elkanah's  departure,  I  made  a  visit  to  the 
cottage.  1  came  upon  its  inmates  by  surprise.  I  found  Kitty  sitting 
alone,  in  the  very  apartment,  in  which,  while  old  Gotlieb  was  liv 
ing,  I  had  enjoyed  so  many  hours  of  rational  happiness.  It  was  now 
miserably  furnished,  and  without  a  vestige  of  that  air  of  comfort, 
for  which  it  had  once  been  remarkable.  Gotlieb's  arm-chair  still 
remained  in  this  apartment,  and  in  it,  as  I  entered,  sat  his  ill-fated 
daughter,  with  her  arms  folded,  and  her  eyes  bent  unmeaningl] 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  41 

upon  the  floor.  She  appeared  to  me  then  decidedly  the  most  for 
lorn  and  miserable  object,  in  human  form,  that  I  had  ever  beheld 
She  did  not  even  ask  me  to  take  a  sea!,  which  she  had  never  omit 
ted  before.  I  endeavored  to  draw  her  into  conversation,  but  my 
attempts  were  fruitless.  Short  answers  to  my  direct  inquiries  were 
all  I  could  obtain.  I  asked  after  the  children  ;  she  seemed  not  to 
know  where  they  were.  I  soon  after  saw  them  playing  near  a  pond, 
in  rear  of  the  cottage.  I  inquired  of  her,  if  she  did  not  feel  an  inter 
est  in  their  welfare  :  she  made  no  direct  reply,  but,  without  raising 
her  eyes  from  the  floor,  and  shrugging  up  her  shoulders  as  she 
spoke,  she  said  in  an  under  tone  — '  They'll  all  je  drunkards  like 
enough.'  —  I  strove  to  rouse  her  from  this  condition  of  apathy,  by 
pointing  out  to  her  a  mother's  accountability,  for  her  faithful  stew 
ardship  over  the  children  that  God  has  given  her ;  but  I  might  as 
profitably  have  preached  homilies  to  the  woods  and  rocks.  Many 
succeeding  visits  were  attended  with  the  same  results.  Neverthe 
less,  she  gave  no  evidence,  by  her  outward  conduct,  of  insanity. 
After  the  removal  of  the  grand  exciting  cause,  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  there  were  no  striking  exhibitions  of  violent  temper.  She 
appeared  to  be  attentive  to  the  wants  of  her  children,  in  regard 
to  their  food  and  clothing.  The  neighbors  were  kind  ;  and,  with 
their  assistance,  she  supplied  the  simple  demands  of  nature,  and 
still  continued  to  patch  up  their  apparel,  such  as  it  was.  She  never 
mentioned  Elkanah,  and  whenever  I  spoke  encouragingly  of  the 
poor  boy,  she  invariably  gave  me  the  same  laconic  and  ominous  reply 
— '  He  '11  be  a  drunkard.'  — I  made  an  application  to  the  overseers 
of  the  poor,  to  ascertain,  if  this  family  might  not  with  propriety  be 
received  into  the  poor-house  ;  believing,  as  I  did  with  good  reason, 
that  the  children  would  have  a  better  opportunity  for  acquiring  a 
little  useful  knowledge.  There  was  an  objection,  in  the  fact,  that 
Kitty  had  her  right  of  dower,  in  all  that  still  remained  of  the  home 
stead  ;  and  could  not  therefore  be  considered  a  pauper,  without  vis 
ible  means  of  support.  She  was  no  vagrant,  for  she  never  stirred 
from  home.  Clearly,  without  her  consent,  it  seemed  not  easy  to 
effectuate  our  good  wishes,  on  her  behalf.  Accordingly,  I  sought  a 
convenient  opportunity,  and,  with  all  imaginable  caution,  suggested 
the  propriety  of  such  a  measure.  This  was  the  only  occasion,  since 
Ethan's  death,  upon  which  I  ever  witnessed  any  violent  excitement 
of  her  temper ;  and  my  well-meant  endeavor  cost  me  the  entire  loss 
of  her  confidence,  which  I  have  never  been  able  to  regain.  W'heu- 
ever  I  approach  her,  she  turns  her  back  upon  me,  as  she  uid  tiiis 
morning,  with  an  expression  of  distrust  and  aversion.  "When  I 
mentioned  the  poor-house,  upon  the  occasion  to  which  I  have  aiiu- 
VOL.  n.  4* 


42  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

<led,  though  she  had  remained  entirely  unmoved,  till  that  moment 
she  started  suddenly,  and  sprang  from  her  seat  —  *  Gotlieb  Jansen's 
daughter  in  the  poor-house !'  said  she,  with  a  strong  and  passionate 
utterance,  and,  instantly  quitting  the  apartment,  flung  to  the  door 
with  violence,  and  left  me  alone.  —  I  never  was  able  to  reinstate 
myself  in  the  good  graces  of  Kitty  Grafton. 

"  More  than  six  months  had  elapsed,  since  Elkanah  left  the  vil 
lage,  when,  upon  tny  application  at  the  post-office  one  morning,  a 
double  letter  was  put  into  my  hand,  with  the  New  York  post-mark. 
It  was  from  Elkanah  Grafton.  This  letter  was  tolerably  well  writ 
ten,  and  very  well  expressed.  It  contained  twenty  dollars,  and  the 
postage  had  been  paid.  Elkanah  informed  me,  that,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  a  short  illness,  he  had  enjoyed  excellent  health,  and  that  God 
had  prospered  his  humble  exertions  beyond  his  hopes.  He  stated, 
that,  after  his  arrival  in  New  York,  he  soon  obtained  a  good  situa 
tion,  as  a  porter  in  a  store,  for  which,  as  he  was  quite  stout  for 
his  years,  he  had  found  himself  well  qualified.  In  that  station, 
he  had  very  soon,  by  untiring  industry,  acquired  the  means  of  pur 
chasing  a  hand-cart,  for  which  he  had  found  constant  and  profit 
able  occupation  ;  and,  that  he  had  laid  by  an  amount  nearly  suffi 
cient  to  pay  for  a  horse  and  dray.  With  these,  if  God  should 
continue  his  good  health,  he  thought  he  should  be  able  to  do  a  very 
profitable  business,  as  he  had  already,  by  his  strict  attention,  acquired 
the  good  will  of  the  merchant,  whom  he  had  served  in  the  capacity 
of  porter,  and  who  promised  to  find  him  constant  employment.  He 
regretted,  that  he  could  not  conveniently  send  a  larger  sum,  for  his 
mother  and  the  children.  He  hoped,  if  the  Lord  prospered  him,  to 
do  much  more  for  them  all,  and  that  the  children  would  not  grow 
up  in  entire  ignorance.  He  informed  me,  that  an  obliging  young 
man,  a  clerk  in  the  store,  where  he  first  obtained  employment,  had 
taught  him  to  write,  in  his  intervals  of  leisure.  He  requested  me 
to  pay  Mr.  Rawlins  for  the  shoes,  and  tell  him,  they  had  done  him 
good  service,  and  to  apply  the  residue  of  the  twenty  dollars,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  family.  He  concluded,  by  telling  me,  that,  upon  the 
first  night,  after  he  quitted  Heathermead,  he  slept  more  soundly 
than  he  had  done  for  years  ;  and  that  he  closed  his  eyes  the  more 
happily,  because  I  had  assured  him,  I  would  certainly  pray  God  to 
protect  and  prosper  him. 

"  I  was  so  much  delighted  with  the  reception  of  this  letter,  that  I 
went  over  immediately  to  the  shoemaker's  shop.  Rawlins  was  sit 
ting  upon  his  bench,  with  his  lap-stone  on  his  knees,  hammering  a 
piece  of  sole-leather.  I  took  my  seat  upon  an  unoccupied  bench 
directly  before  him.  Holding  the  letter  in  one  hand,  and  the  twenty 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  43 

dollars  in  the  other  —  <  It 's  from  Elkanah  Grafton,  Mr.  Rawlins,' 
said  I.  —  'Why,  how  you  talk!  Parson  More,'  cried  the  shoe 
maker,  as  he  set  down  his  lap-stone  on  the  floor,  and,  resting  his 
cheek  upon  his  hand,  looked  at  me  earnestly  over  his  glasses,  as  I 
commenced  reading  the  letter.  —  '  There,'  said  he,  when  I  had  fin 
ished,  '  don't  you  remember,  parson,  I  told  him  he  'd  get  along?' 
— '  Yes,'  I  replied,  '  I  think  I  do  — now,  Mr.  Rawlins,  if  you  '11 
change  the  hill,  I  '11  pay  you  for  the  shoes/  — '  Pshaw,  Parson  More, 
I  meant  to  give  Elky  them  are  shoes,  and  I  set  it  down  as  lent  to  the 
Lord  ;  'twas  a  part  o'  what  I  calculated  to  give  away  this  year.  I 
can't  take  no  pay  for  them  shoes  no  way.'  — I  was  about  to  press 
the  matter,  when  he  cried,  as  he  caught  up  the  lap-stone  — '  Pshaw, 
Parson  More,  I  can't,  no  how,'  and  began  to  hammer  the  sole- 
leather  with  all  his  might,  while  he  struck  up  '  Life  is  the  time,' 
with  a  voice,  that  defied  all  further  expostulation. 

"  I  proceeded  immediately  to  Heathermead  End.  Being  thor 
oughly  aware  of  Kitty's  aversion  to  my  visits,  I  knocked  once  only 
at  the  cottage  door,  that  I  might  secure  an  interview,  opening  it 
almost  at  the  same  moment,  and  holding  the  letter  in  my  hand.  She 
was  in  the  apartment,  and  we  stood,  for  an  instant,  in  full  view 
of  each  other.  I  scarcely  opened  my  mouth  to  communicate  the 
tidings,  when  she  clapped  her  hands  upon  her  ears,  and  strode  off 
towards  the  fields,  saying  as  she  went,  '  I  '11  hear  nothing  about  the 
poor-house.'  —  I  watched  her  for  a  few  moments,  till  she  had 
reached  the  confines  of  the  neighboring  wood  lot.  I  was  satisfied, 
that  our  direct  communications  were  at  an  end  ;  and  sincerely  regret 
ted,  that  I  had  limited  my  power  of  usefulness,  by  approaching  a 
subject  so  exceedingly  offensive  to  her  pride.  I  had  lost  her  confi 
dence,  and  had  no  course  left,  but  to  open  some  other  channel  of 
communication.  The  nearest  neighbors  were  the  family  of  Ashur 
Mellen :  they  had  never  been  particularly  blessed  in  their  basket 
and  store  —  they  were  poor,  but  pious,  industrious,  and  eminently 
cheerful.  Of  their  pittance  they  were  ready  to  impart  to  those, 
whose  necessities  were  greater  than  their  own.  This  family  had 
been  unvaryingly  kind  to  Kitty  Grafton  and  her  children.  Ashur's 
only  daughter  was,  at  this  time,  eighteen  years  of  age.  Her  affec 
tionate  temper  had  Jed  her  frequently  to  Kitty's  cottage ;  she  had 
often  taken  her  seat  by  the  poor  creature's  side,  and,  in  some  slight 
measure,  brokan  in  upon  her  desperate  state  of  mind,  by  playing 
with  the  children.  At  one  time,  she  would  give  them  some  little 
instruction  in  their  reading  and  spelling  ;  and,  at  another,  she  would 
rally  the  mother's  energies,  by  taking  their  ragged  clothes  into  her 
own  hands,  and  proceeding  to  repair  them.  I  confided  Elkanah's 


44  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

letter  and  the  money  to  the  care  of  Ashur  Mellen,  whose  integrity 
was  a  proverb  in  our  village.  He  told  me,  a  few  days  after,  that 
his  daughter  had  read  the  letter  to  Kitty  Grafton,  who  uttered  noth 
ing  at  the  close,  but  her  customary  prophecy,  whenever  the  name 
of  Elkauah  was  mentioned  ;  —  'He  '11  die  a  drunkard  yet.'  Farmer 
Mellen  informed  me,  that  Kitty  would  not  receive  the  money,  nor 
give  any  direction  how  it  should  be  employed  ;  and  that  his  daugh 
ter  had  therefore  takeii  the  charge  upon  herself  of  laying  it  out  to 
the  best  advantage.  '  You  've  seen,'  said  Ashur  Mellen,  '  ho  v  our 
Rhoda  flies  round  with  her  rake  in  haying  time,  jest  afore  a  thundei 
shower,  — why,  Mr.  More,'  said  he,  '  she  's  equal  to  any  two  hired 
men  ;  —  well,  she  '?  jest  as  busy  now  about  fixing  these  here  chil 
dren.  She  'a  been  at  it,  from  morning  to  night,  ever  since  you  was 
t'  our  house.  'Zeik  Atherton,  that 's  been  a  kind  o'  courting  Rhoda, 
you  know,  says,  arter  what  he  's  seed  for  the  last  three  days,  he  '11 
trust  her  with  anybody's  children. '  —  I  well  recollect  the  delight  I  felt, 
on  the  following  Sabbath,  after  I  had  been  seated,  for  a  short  time, 
in  my  pulpit,  when  I  saw  Rhoda  Mellen,  with  an  air  of  justifiable 
pride  and  pleasure,  leading  Kitty  Grafton's  four  children,  tidily  appar 
elled,  into  God's  holy  temple.  I  took  special  care  to  notice  them 
after  the  service ;  and,  in  a  voice,  sufficiently  distinct  to  be  heard  by 
more  than  one,  I  commended  Rhoda  for  her  zeal  for  these  orphans 
—  and  such  in  reality  they  were.  I  never  was  given  to  making 
matches,"  continued  my  old  master,  "but  I  wished  Rhoda  Mellen 
a  good  husband,  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  was  particularly  careful  to 
bestow  this  commendation  upon  the  poor  girl,  in  the  hearing  of 
Ezekiel  Atherton,  who,  though  he  had  not  yet  offered  himself,  was 
paying  her  considerable  attention.  "  Atherton  was  a  worthy  young 
man,  and  owned  a  farm,  a  small  one  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  unen 
cumbered.  He  was  evidently  gratified,  quite  as  sincerely  as  Rhoda 
herself,  by  my  approbation,  and  seemed  to  catch  no  small  portion 
of  her  enthusiasm.  His  horse  and  wagon  were  speedily  at  the 
church  door  ;  Rhoda  could  not  decently  refuse  his  invitation  ;  though, 
as  she  caught  a  glance  at  the  groups,  who  were  tittering  and  sim 
pering  on  the  church  steps,  in  the  best  good-nature  withal,  she 
olushed  to  the  very  roots  of  her  fine  black  hair.  Kitty's  four  chil 
dren  were  also  accommodated  in  the  wagon,  and  Ezekiel  Atherton, 
as  he  drove  off,  with  his  shining  face,  gave  a  familiar  nod,  and  £*• 
happy  smile  to  his  waggish  companions,  who  complimented  him 
upon  his  growing  family.  Ashur  Mellen  called  on  me  the  next 
morning,  before  breakfast,  a  full  week,  before  I  could  possibly  com 
ply  with  his  request,  to  ask  me  to  publish  the  banns  of  marriage 
between  Ezekiel  Atherton  and  his  daughter  Rhoda. 


KITTT   GRAFTON.  45 

Rhoda  Mellen's  anticipations  of  brighter  days  to  come  abated  not 
the  tithe  of  a  hair  of  her  interest  in  these  poor  children.  Her  atten 
ttons  to  them  and  their  wretched  mother  seemed  rather  to  be  multi 
plied. 

"  I  acknowledged  the  receipt  of  Elkanah's  letter,  directing,  as  he 
had  requested,  to  the  care  of  A.  I.  McFiniiison  and  Co.,  informing 
him  in  what  manner  the  money  had  been  employed,  and  furnishing 
such  information  as  I  thought  proper.  His  letters  and  supplies  of 
money  continued  to  reach  me  for  the  space  of  two  years,  with  inter 
missions  of  three  or  four  months.  From  their  general  f.nor  I  was 
le«.l  to  believe,  that  he  was  growing  in  favor  with  God  and  man. 
While  he  described  his  prosperity,  as  transcending  his  utmost  expec 
tations,  he  appeared  —  and  his  language  could  not  have  been  mis 
taken —  to  feel  the  same  humble  accountability  to  G<o  that  an 
unexceptionable  steward  ought  to  feel  to  a  master,  from  whom  he 
has  received  all  that  he  enjoys.  He  had  made  valuable  friends ; 
and  he  appeared  to  be  in  no  danger  of  losing  them.  The  master, 
whom  he  had  first  served  in  the  city,  having  found  him  faithful  over 
a  few  things,  had  made  him  steward  over  many.  The  same  indi 
vidual,  a  clerk  in  the  store,  who  had  taught  him  to  write,  had 
instructed  him  also  in  arithmetic  and  book-keeping.  His  employer 
had  not  failed  to  perceive,  that,  in  addition  to  his  religious  and 
moral  qualifications,  his  industry,  activity,  and  intelligence,  and 
highly  acceptable  manners,  fitted  him  for  a  more  elevated  walk 
At  the  expiration  of  fourteen  months,  he  disposed  of  his  horse  and 
dray,  and  was  received  into  the  counting  room,  as  a  clerk.  The 
business  of  the  firm  had  led  them  to  cultivate  extensive  connec 
tions  with  the  western  country.  Two  years  had  scarcely  elapsed, 
since  Elkanah  Grafton  departed  from  the  village,  —  the  penniless 
descendant  of  a  drunken  father, — before  his  commercial  friends 
thought  him  so  far  worthy  of  their  confidence,  as  to  employ  him  at 
a  distance,  and  to  give  him  such  a  credit  as  to  enable  him  to  com 
mence  business  on  his  own  account.  He  advised  me  of  this  good 
fortune.  Seven  months  elapsed,  after  the  reception  of  this  letter, 
before  another  reached  me  from  New  Orleans.  His  accounts  were 
still  exceedingly  flattering,  in  regard  to  his  success  ;  but  they  were 
BO  justly  expressed,  and  so  admirably  well  tempered  with  a  firm 
reliance  upon  God,  —  with  such  a  Christian  submission  to  his  will,  — 
with  such  a  humble  willingness,  whether  he  giveth  or  taketh  away, 
to  bless  his  holy  name,  —  that  I  truly  believe,  had  this  young  man 
been  suddenly  reduced  to  penury  again,  he  would  have  borne  the 
cross  like  a  veteran  soldier.  Such,  however,  seemed  not  as  yet  to 
be  the  destiny  of  Heaven.  ]  had  nearly  forgotten  to  state,  that, 


4S  KITTY  GRAFTON. 

after  I  had  informed  him  of  Rhoda  Me  len's  great  kindness  to  his 
mother  and  the  children,  he  frequently  requested  me  to  employ  a 
part  of  his  remittances  for  their  benefit.  —  Rawlins  was  growing- 
old  ;  his  eyesight  began  to  fail  him ;  and  he  could  scarcely  express 
the  satisfaction  he  enjoyed,  when  I  presented  him  with  a  large  Fam 
ily  Bible,  which  I  had  been  requested  by  Elkanah,  as  he  was  aboui 
leaving  New  York  for  the  western  country,  to  purchase  on  his 
account.  '  Why,  pshaw,  Mr.  More,  I  want  to  know,'  said  he,  a. 
he  stared  at  the  binding  ;  '  this  here  's  slick  enough.  What  a  raai 
good  type  'tis,'  he  continued,  as  he  opened  at  the  first  chapter  ot 
Genesis.  — '  That  are  I  is  full  as  long  as  my  pegging  awl  —  ar  J 
there,  Mr.  More,  only  look  at  that  are  capital  G ;  it 's  every  bit  and 
grain  as  big  as  a  young  woman's  heel-tap  Well,  for  sartain,  it 's  the 
polite  thing  in  Elky  to  send  me  sich  a  grand  present.  I  wonder 
how  he  's  off,  for  shoes,  Mr.  More  ;  though,  as  like  as  not,  he 
would  n't  wear  such  as  I  make,  now  he  's  getting  on  so  fine.  My 
old  hand  hasn't  lost  its  cunning,  for  all  that;  look  a  here,  Mr. 
More,'  said  he,  taking  down  a  pair  of  military  boots,  which  he  had 
just  completed  for  Colonel  Peppergrass,  '  what  d'  ye  say  to  them?' 
—  I  told  him  I  thought  his  work  as  respectable  as  anybody's.  — 
'Pshaw,  Mr.  More!'  said  he,  'when  you  write,  you'll  please  to 
give  my  best  benevolence  to  Elky,  and  thank  him  peticlar.' 

"  After  Rhoda  Mellen  was  married,  though  the  distance  was 
materially  increased,  between  her  residence  and  the  Grafton  cottage, 
she  still  contrived  to  see  the  children  frequently,  and  took  them  with 
her  to  meeting  almost  every  Sabbath. 

"  Years  rolled  away,  and  no  visible  change  occurred  in  regard  to 
Kitty  Grafton.  She  rose  up  and  lay  down  with  her  accustomed 
regularity.  She  prepared  the  simple  meals  for  herself  and  her  chil 
dren  ;  and  gave  some  attention  to  their  clothing.  When  not  thus 
engaged,  her  mind  appeared  to  settle  into  that  state  of  bitter  de 
spondency,  which  I  have  already  described. 

"  I  was  sitting,  one  evening,  in  this  very  chair,  and  looking  out  of 
that  window — it  was  nearly  sunset — Mrs.  More  and  myself  had  been 
remarking,  a  short  time  before,  upon  the  very  rapid  passage  of  those 
five  years,  which  had  gone  by,  since  Elkanah  left  the  village.  The 
mail  stage  stopped  at  the  door  ;  and  a  well-dressed  young  man 
alighted  and  advanced  towards  it.  —  It  was  Elkanah  Grafton — I 
met  him  in  the  entry  —  he  embraced  me  with  the  affection  of  a  child, 
and  I  wept  over  him  like  a  father.  —  After  a  brief  conversation 
between  him  and  Mrs.  More,  respecting  his  mother  and  the  children, 
he  expressed  a  wish  to  visit  the  cottage.  We  proceeded  together. 
I  informed  him,  by  the  way,  of  the  circumstance >  which  had  lost 


KITTY  GRAFTON.  47 

me  his  mother's  confidence,  and  he  disclosed  to  me  his  plans,  respect 
ing  his  younger  brothers  and  his  sister.  He  told  me,  that  the  Lord 
had  placed  the  means  abundantly  in  his  power,  for  doing  good,  and 
that  he  felt  accountable  ior  their  employment.  When  we  arrived 
at  the  cottage,  the  children  were  playing  before  the  door.  The 
elder  instantly  recognized  his  brother,  and  exclaimed,  as  he  ran  into 
the  house,  '  Mother,  Elkanah  has  come!' — Kitty  came  forth  with 
a  degree  of  earnestness,  in  her  look  and  manner,  which  surprised 
me.  There  was  a  faint  smile  upon  her  features,  and  her  lips  trem 
bled  with  emotion.  '  Elkanah  !'  said  she  ;  —  but  as  he  approached 
her,  she  observed  me,  for  the  first  time,  and  clapping  her  hands 
upon  her  ears,  she  returned  to  the  house,  exclaiming,  as  upon  a  for 
mer  occasion,  '  I  '11  hear  nothing  of  the  poor-house.' 

"  Elkanah  followed  her  into  the  house,  and  I  told  the  children  to 
inform  him,  that  I  had  returned  to  the  parsonage,  and  should  expect 
him  there. 

"  It  was  late  in  the  evening,  before  he  came.  His  spirits  were 
evidently  depressed  by  the  scene  he  had  witnessed.  He  informed 
me,  that,  when  he  had  followed  his  mother  into  the  cottage,  there 
was  no  longer  the  slightest  evidence  of  emotion  ;  that  his  efforts  to 
rouse  her  from  her  apathy  were  utterly  ineffectual ;  and  that  she 
had  scarcely  appeared  to  listen  to  his  propositions  for  her  advantage. 
When  he  suggested  a  removal  from  the  cottage  to  a  more  comfort 
able  residence,  she  shook  her  head  with  a  slight  expression  of  anger ; 
and,  after  a  short  pause,  exclaimed,  '  Here  I  was  born,  and  here  I 
will  die.'  —  In  answer  to  his  request  for  permission  to  remove  the 
children  for  the  purposes  of  education,  she  said, '  Very  well  — they  '11 
all  be  drunkards.' 

"  Elkanah  Grafton  remained  a  fortnight  in  the  village.  It  would 
be  superfluous  to  say,  that  he  visited  his  old  friend  Rawlins,  and 
took  tea  three  or  four  •  times  with  Ezekiel  Atherton  and  his  wife. 
Elkanah  gathered  his  most  important  lessons  from  an  infallible 
teacher ;  and  I  have  never  known  an  individual  more  oblivious  of 
injuries  or  more  tenacious  of  the  recollection  of  benefits  than  he. 

"  There  are  many  interesting  circumstances,  connected  with  this 
narrative,  which  I  cannot  relate,  without  an  extension  of  the  story  to 
an  unwarrantable  length.  The  residue  may  easily  be  told,  in  a  sum 
mary  manner.  —  Many  years  have  passed  away,  since  those  days  of 
domestic  desolation,  when  poor  Elkanah  was  a  broken-spirited  slave, 
in  the  cottage  of  his  drunken  father.  He  yet  lives,  opulent,  respected, 
and  beloved  —  the  benefactor  of  his  fellow-men.  He  took  upon  him 
self  the  education  of  his  three  brothers  and  his  sister.  The  latter  is 
uow  the  wife  of  a  respectable  professional  gentleman  in .  One 


48  KIITY  GRAFTON. 

of  his  brothers  became  a  merchant,  and  is  a  man  of  wealth.  The 
other  two,  at  Elkanah's  charge,  received  a  liberal  education.  Of 
the.se  one  prepared  for  the  ministry,  but  has  been  called,  I  trust,  to 
a  better  world. 

"  I.i  the  Mahometan  empire,  refreshing  fountains  are  often  pre 
sented  to  the  view  of  the  traveller  by  the  side  of  the  public  way. 
Of  these  many  are  pious  foundations.  Trees  are  planted  around  them. 
Here  the  pious  Mussulman  throws  off  his  mantle  ;  spreads  it  for  a 
carpet  on  the  ground  ;  and  with  his  prayers,  unites  his  expressions 
of  gratitude  to  that  benefactor,  to  whom  he  is  indebted  for  the  waters 
of  the  fountain,  for  shade,  and  for  repose.  — In  a  distant  corner  of 
our  country  there  is  a  fountain  of  learning  and  piety,  whose  streams 
have  already  gone  forth  to  refresh  and  irrigate  the  world.  For  cen 
turies  to  come,  the  Christian  disciple,  in  a  higher  and  a  holier 
spirit,  while  he  partakes  of  its  living  waters,  shall  mingle  with  his 
thanksgiving  to  the  Most  High  God  his  grateful  recollections  of  its 
founder  —  that  wandering  boy,  who,  having  no  earthly  father  to 
comfort  and  to  guide,  became  a  child  of  God  —  a  steward  of  the  poor 

—  a  benefactor  of  mankind.  —  Such  was  Elkanah  Grafton. 

"  Having  long  since  despaired  of  my  best  efforts,  when  directly 
employed  upon  that  miserable  woman,  whom  we  saw  this  morning, 

—  1  have  sometimes  induced  other  persons  to  convey  to  her  the 
tidings  of  God  s  kind  and  merciful  dealings  with  her  children.     She 
has  but  one  commentary  on  such  occasions  — '  They  '11  all  be  drunk 
ards.' —  Everything  is  done  to  render  her  situation  comfortable. 
Efforts  were  made,  by  her  son's  directions,  to  repair  the  cottage, 
and  put  the  estate  in  better  order ;  but  she  expressed  so  much  dis 
pleasure,  and  even  anger,  that  I  ordered  the  workmen  to  desist. 
She  told  them,  if  they  repaired  it,  her  children,  when  they  becamt 
drunkards,  would  certainly  tear  it  to  pieces.     She  is  desperate,  as  I 
told  you  before.     This  word  is  often  used  in  a  violent  sense ;  I  do 
not  so  intend  it.     She  is  without  hope,  and,  of  course,  without  hap 
piness.  —  It  was  once  far  otherwise  —  she  and  her  husband  were 
among  the  happiest  of  that  class  of  my  parishioners,  whose  happi 
ness  was  vested  in  mere  earthly  joys  arid  possessions ;  and  I  truly 
believe,  that,  such  as  it  was,  that  happiness  might  have  continued, 
uninc  paired,  to  the  present  hour  —  if  Ethan  Graf  ton's  cider  had  not 
been  equal  to  wiie." 


TOO  FAST  AND  TOO  FAR; 

OR, 

THE  COOPER  AND  THE  CURRIER. 


Few  things  have  appeared,  to  our  apprehension,  more  thoroughly  fantastical  than  suih  cbje<  .tau 
M  have  been  opposed  to  the  temperance  pledge.  The  original  objector*  themselves,  many  of  v/hoia 
ks.v«  tsscrv.e  zealous  and  prominent  members  of  the  temperance  society,  appear  to  be  rapidl'f 
arrir-.ng,  or«  after  another,  at  the  same  profitable  conclusion.  Most  of  these  objections  have  been 
effectual!'  arswered.  The  most  formidable  of  them  all  is  that,  which  declares  that  the  employmenj 
of  the  pledge  takes  from  man  hi«  moral  power,  inasmuch  as  it  lowers  the  standard  of  human  motive. 
This  objection,  tricked  out  in  all  the  embellishments  of  human  perfectibility,  and  the  self-sumcisncy 
of  man's  mural  power,  is  exceedingly  specious,  hut  it  is  nothing  more.  If  man  were  still  only  a 
little  lower  itM'i  the  aiigel*.  notwithstanding  his  f 


fall,  we  should  have  infinitely  less  material  than  at 
objection.     But  it  is  surely  far  otherwise.     Many,  to 

te  pege  as  een  tenered,  an  wo  ha\e  been  reclaimed  through  iis  instrumentality, 
ot  only  a  little  lower  than  the  angels,  but,  for  the  time,  very  considerably  lower  than  the 
that  perish.  With  men,  who  art  habitually  intemperate,  it  is  assuredly  an  unprofitable  task 


piesent,  wherewith  to  construct  a  reply  to  this  objection.     But  it  is  surely  far  otherwise.     Many,  to 
whom  the  pledge  has  been  tendered,  and  who   ha\e    been  reclaimed  through  iis  instrumentality, 


not 

beast 

to  talk  of  higher  and  holier  considerations.  In  Ins  chapter  on  drunkenness,  Archdeacon  Paley  ha» 
the  following  observation  :  —  "  /  definite  resolutions  of  abstemiousness  are  apt  to  yield  to  extraor 
dinary  occasions,  and  extraordinary  occasions  to  occur  perpetually  ;  whereas  the  stricter  the  rule  is. 
the  more  tenacious  we  gruw  of  it  ;  a  id  ni'iny  n  m  m  w'.ll  ah*  tain  rather  than  break  his  rule,  who  would 
not  easily  be  brought  to  exercit-e  the  same  mortification  f  mm  higher  motives."  We  otter  the  pledge 
to  the  intemperate  man,  as  a  mechanical  help,  and  to  the  temperate  man,  that  we  may  have  the 
weight  of  his  example  on  our  side. 

The  pledge  is  believed  to  be  an  invaluable  part  of  '.hat  machinery,  whereby  the  temperance  refor 
mation  has  been  advanced  to  its  present  state.  The  following  tale  is  intended  to  illustrate  ill 
importance  in  a  case,  unattended  by  the  common  formalities  ;  and"  in  which  the  obligation  ran  not  to 
a  society,  from  one  of  its  members,  but  from  an  intemperate  young  man  to  his  frieiiri  and  neighbor. 

Drunkenness  is  frequently  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  trick  or  habit,  whose  very  charm  and 
influence  over  its  ill-fated  slave  depend  upon  its  continuity  from  day  to  day,  or  from  hour  to  hour. 
If  this  continuity  can  be  interrupted  fur  a  sufficient  time,  a  healthier  moral  action  supervenes  —  th 


charm  is  broken  —  the  intemperate  is  awakened  to  a  new  code  of  sensations—  from  the  tears  of  joy, 
which  are  shed  around  him,  he  «rathers  the  conviction  that  he  is  not  utterly  despised.  The 
neglected  wife  dares  to  hope  for  hri<rlner  days  —  his  little  ones  shake  off  their  terror  and  climb  once 
i  upon  the  father's  knee  —  the  (iod  of  nil  pitv  vouchsafes  a  smile  of  approbation  —  the  r 


more  upon  the  father's  knee  —  the  (iod  of  all  pitv  vouchsafes  a  smile  of  approbation  —  the  poor, 
pitiable  drunkard  gathers  up  his  fallen  respectability  —  takes  a  new  departure  for  the  voyage  of  life 
—  becomes  a  faithful  husband,  an  atie  'tionate  father',  a  child  of  God. 

Such  frequently  have  been  the  effect*  of  the  temperance  pledge.  What  then  is  the  real  value  of 
that  sublimated  "philosophy,  which  would  procrastinate  the  drunkard's  reformation,  until  it  can  be 
achieved,  if  at  all,  by  other  and  tardier  means !  Is  it  merciful  and  just  to  leave  untried  those  simple 
means,  which  a»e  so  perfectly  intelligible,  and  have  proved  so  efficacious  already,  and  patiently 
wait  fcr  the  rise  and  progress  of  religion  in  the  drunkard's  soul  !  If  these  inquiries' appear  extraor 
dinary  to  some  of  our  readers,  let  it  "not  be  forgotten,  that  the  system  of  association  and  the  pledge 
are,  Vy  some,  accounted  sinful  and  abominable,  inasmuch  as  they  propose  a  reformation,  by  other 

this  pr.nciple,  a  whimsical  prelate  has  affirmed',  in  a  printed  lecture,  that  "  the  success  of  the  tern- 
pemnct  society  would  be  the  triumph  of  infidelity." 


11  Too  FAST  AND  TOO  FAR!"  said  good  old  Parson  Who  Uy,  of 
Eddington,  to  his  younger  brother  in  the  ministry,  who  tad  that 
day  officiated  in  the  old  gentleman's  pulpit  —  "  too  fast  and  tco  far !" 
—  ''Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  Rev.  Mr.  Merrick,  of  Shuffleton.  "I  am 
afraid  the  friends  of  temperance  are  going  too  fast  and  too  far.  I 
am  getting  to  be  of  the  same  opinion  with  my  friend,  the  Rev. 

Mr. ,  of ,  that  it  is   high   time  for  its  real 

iriends  to  '  drag  the  wheels'  of  the  temperance  car/-"  —  "  Then,  my 

VOL.  II.  6 


50  TOO  FAST  AND  TOO  FAR;  OR, 

young  friend,"  said  Parson  Wheatly,  "  you  will  drag  the  wheels 
of  a  vehicle,  which  is  annually  carrying  thousands  of  your  fellow- 
creatures  to  happiness  and  to  heaven.  You  have  dram-shops  in 
Shuffleton,  I  believe  ;  and,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  you  have  a  distillery 
there."  — "  Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  Rev.  Mr.  Merri^k,  "we  have 
four  stores,  whcie  liquor  n;ay  be  had,  besides  two  taverns  and  a 
distillery."  —  "Pretty  well  for  a  population  of  four  or  live  hun 
dred,"  said  the  old  gentleman;  "and  I  suppose  you  have  some 
drunkards."  —  "  We  have  our  share,"  replied  the  other ;  "  and  I  am 
fully  of  opinion,  that  one,  perhaps  two,  of  the  stores  might  be  dis 
pensed  with."  —  "  My  young  brother,"  said  Parson  Wheatly,  after 
a  sclemn  pause,  "  let  us  not  trifle  with  the  most  solemn  and  impor 
tant  matters.  You  are  the  minister  of  Shuffleton  ;  it  is  your  business 
to  save  souls ;  your  ordination  vows  are  upon  you  ;  and,  in  the  great 
day,  the  account  of  your  stewardship  must  be  submitted  to  a 
lightepus  judge,  who  will  not  be  mocked.  You  admit  that  you 
have  drunkards  in  your  parish  ;  your  Bible  tells  you  that  drunkards 
shall  not  inherit  the  kingdom  of  God  ;  — say,  then,  can  you  go  too 
fast  or  too  far  to  save  these  wretched  creatures  from  everlasting 
destruction  ?'' —  The  young  clergyman  was  not  a  little  perplexed 
oy  this  prompt  and  faithful  interrogatory.  "  Pray,  tell  me,"  con 
tinued  Parson  Wheatly,  "  what  progress  have  you  made  in  the 
temperance  cause,  in  your  village?"  —  "  Why,  not  much,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Merrick ;  "we  have  not  seen  much  good  resulting  from  the 
experiment." — "Have  you  made  the  experiment'?"  inquired  the 
old  man,  with  an  incredulous  expression ;  "  how  many  have  joined 
your  temperance  society?"  —  "  Why,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  we 
have  not  been  able  to  get  up  a  society  as  yet.  An  attempt  was 
made  last  year,  but  it  did  not  succeed  ;  the  people  were  opposed  to 
it."  —  "  And  how  was  the  minister?"  said  Parson  Wheatly,  draw 
ing  his  chair  close  to  that  of  Mr.  Merrick,  and  fixing  his  little  gray 
eyes  upon  those  of  his  younger  brother  so  keenly,  that  escape  from 
such  scrutiny  became  utterly  impossible.  The  consciousness  of  his 
own  subserviency  to  the  will  of  his  parishioners,  caused  the  Rev. 
Lysander  Merrick  to  blush  for  shame  before  his  uncompromising 
brother,  whose  years  and  high  standing  afforded  abundant  justifi 
cation  for  his  plain  dealing.  "  Well,  well,  brother  Merrick," 
continued  he,  "  since  you  have  not  seen  the  good  effects  of  this 
experiment,  as  you  call  it,  in  your  own  parish,  you  shall  judge  of 
them  in  mine.  Three  years  ago,  the  friends  of  temperance  broke 
ground  in  this  village.  They  scattered  the  seed  with  a  liberal  hand  ; 
the  best  efforts  of  the  husbandman  have  not  been  wanting ;  and 
God  has  given  the  increase.  The  general  influence  of  the  re'orma- 


THE  COOPER  AND  THE  CURRIER.  51 

tion  is  very  apparent  in  the  manners  and  habits  cf  our  people. 
Those,  who  are  prospered  in  their  basket  and  store,  are  more  ready 
to  impart  to  the  temperate  poor,  than  to  drunken  mendicants.  On 
the  other  hand,  many  intemperate  men,  having  sacrificed  their  idols, 
and  taken  up  anew  the  implements  of  honest  industry,  in  some 
department  of  agricultural  or  mechanical  labor,  have  ceased  to  be 
needy,  and  are  contented  to  be  poor.  The  Gospel  may  as  profitably 
be  preached  to  the  tenants  of  a  mad-house,  as  to  a  congregation  of 
drunkards.  That  delightful  calm,  which  is  commonly  a  direct  con 
sequence  of  the  reformation,  in  any  village  in  which  it  thrives,  pre 
pares  the  way  of  the  Lord.  In  Eddington  it  may  truly  be  proclaimed, 
that  righteousness  and  peace  have  kissed  each  other.  Our  church 
enrols  among  its  cherished  and  respected  members  several  indi 
viduals,  who,  three  years  ago,  were  irreligious  and  intemperate  men. 
It  is  highly  interesting  to  contemplate  that  honest  and  harmless 
competition,  that  provocation  to  good  works,  which  is  frequently 
exhibited  among  the  reformed.  Those,  who  formerly  struggled  for 
no  other  palm  of  victory  than  the  reputation  of  drinking  the  largest 
quantity  of  rum,  are  now  ambitious  to  excel  in  their  respective  crafts, 
or  in  the  cultivation  of  their  farms.  I  could  exhibit  many  individual 
examples,  in  illustration  of  these  remarks.  To-morrow,  when  you 
return  to  Shuffleton,  I  will  ride  with  you  a  mile  or  twro  upon  your 
way,  and  show  you  a  couple  of  families,  now  residing  under  the 
samo  roof,  in  perfect  harmony.  They  are  temperate,  religious, 
frugal,  industrious,  and  happy.  Three  years  ago,  they  were  among 
the  most  intemperate  and  quarrelsome  of  my  parishioners." 

After  their  evening's  repast,  Mr.  Merrick  expressed  a  wish  to 
hear  some  account  of  the  families,  whom  they  were  to  visit  on  the 
morrow.  "  George  Webber,  a  cooper,  and  Peter  Bailey,  a  currier, 
married  sisters,"  said  Parson  Wheatly.  "They  became  very  in 
temperate  young  men.  Soon  after  their  marriages,  which  took  place 
upon  the  same  evening,  a  terrible  quarrel  arose  between  them  ;  one 
sued  the  other ;  each  employed  a  lawyer ;  and,  for  four  years,  the 
action  was  continued,  appealed,  ruled  out  of  court  and  ruled  in  again, 
tried  again  and  again  for  non-agreement  of  the  jury,  and  finally 
gotten  before  the  full  court  upon  points  of  law.  During  these  four 
years,  Webber  and  Bailey,  the  cooper  and  the  currier,  made  an 
incalculable  sacrifice  of  money,  time,  and  temper.  It  repeatedly 
happened,  that,  whilst  the  lawyers  were  arguing  upon  the  merits, 
Webber  and  Bailey  were  fighting  upon  the  common.  They  left  no 
means  of  reciprocal  annoyance  unemployed.  It  was  realiy  a  pity, 
that  the  sum  total  in  dispute,  which  had  produced  this  domestic 
feud,  and  prolonged  it  for  four  years,  had  not  been  a  natter  of 


52  TOO  FAST  ANL>  TOO  FAR;  OR, 

greater  importance.  The  whole  amount  was  two  tr.d  foMrpence, 
the  difference  between  a  ten-gallon  keg  and  a  calf-skin.  The  cooper 
and  the  currier  were  extensively  connected  by  the  bonds  of  blood 
and  marriage  ;  and  there  were  few  persons  in  Eddington,  who  had 
kern,  entirely  aloof  from  this  unpleasant  controversy.  Lancaster  and 
York  followed  their  red  and  white  roses  ;  and  the  good  people  of 
our  village  were,  at  one  time,  pretty  equally  divided,  one  half  de 
claring  for  the  keg,  and  the  other  for  the  calf-skin.  No  human 
being  could  foresee  the  termination  of  this  two-and-fourpenny  uproar. 
It  occasioned  not  only  alarming  results,  but  some  that  were  exceed 
ingly  ludicrous.  Webber  and  Bailey,  at  that  time,  resided  nearly 
opposite  to  each  other ;  and,  adjoining  Bailey's  shop,  there  was  a 
small  tannery.  One  March-meeting  afternoon,  when  both  were  full 
of  liquor,  and,  of  course,  the  worse  for  it,  Webber  insulted  Bailey, 
as  he  was  standing  near  a  pit  in  the  tan-yard,  and  told  him,  if  he 
would  come  over  the  wall  into  the  road,  he  ?d  knock  in  his  head  for 
him.  Bailey,  in  his  turn,  called  hard  names,  and  offered,  if  Web 
ber  would  step  into  the  yard,  to  tan  his  hide  handsomely.  Webber 
sprang  over  the  wall  in  a  moment,  and  at  it  they  went.  After  a 
few  blows,  which  did  little  execution,  for  the  parties  were  drunk, 
each  strove  to  hurl  the  other  into  the  pit,  and  both  completely  suc 
ceeded.  It  was  about  seven  feet  deep,  and  full  of  hides  and  dirty 
water.  Peggy  Webber  saw  the  conflict  from  her  window  ;  and 
Biddy  Bailey  was  attracted  to  her  door  by  the  shouting  and  cursing 
of  the  combatants.  The  ladies  flew  instantly  to  the  assistance  of 
their  lords  ;  each,  seizing  her  husband's  antagonist,  was  seized  upon 
in  turn  ;  and,  almost  immediately,  they  were  all  four  bouncing  and 
floundering  in  the  tan-pit.  It  was  the  more  unfortunate,  as  it  was 
a  holiday,  and  all  parties  were  dressed  in  their  best  apparel.  Some 
of  the  neighbors  soon  came  to  their  relief,  and  they  emerged  from 
the  vat  somewhat  cooler  than  they  went  into  it.  These  men  pro 
ceeded  in  their  evil  courses  until  employment  and  reputation  were 
totally  lost.  Bailey's  wife  was  herself  becoming  a  tippler.  Peggy 
Webber  was  never  known  to  seek  solace  from  the  bottle.  There  is 
some  consolation,  probably,  in  tears,  and  poor  Peggy  took  it  out  in 
crying.  George  used  to  scold  and  threaten  her,  and  then  she  would 
run  off",  for  half  a  day,  with  her  baby,  and  seek  a  temporary  asylum 
with  some  charitable  neighbor.  Bailey  was  naturally  obstinate  and 
pugnacious,  and  rum  made  him  necessarily  more  so.  '  If  my  wife  'a 
abed  when  1  get  home,'  he  has  been  heard  to  say,  while  reeling,  at 
a  late  hour,  from  the  dram-shop,  '  I  '11  beat  her  ;  for  what  right  har- 
she  to  go  to  bed  afore  I  gets  home  and  has  my  supper?  and,  if  I 
find  her  a  setting  up,  I  ;11  beat  her,  as  sure  as  1  live ;  for  what  right 


THE  COOPER  AND  THE  CURRIER.  53 

has  she  to  be  setting  up,  arter  midnight,  a  burning  c  ut  fire  and  can 
dles?' —  Rum,  operating  upon  a  very  different  temperament  in 
Webber,  produced  different  effects.  He  was,  by  nature,  wild, 
scheming,  visionary.  It  commonly  reduced  him  to  a  condition 
scarcely  distinguishable  from  insanity.  He  had  a  younger  brother, 
who  was  an  industrious,  temperate  ship-carpenter.  Webber,  upon 
one  occasion,  when  crazy  with  liquor,  went  into  the  grave-yird, 
and,  entering  a  tomb,  brought  forth  a  skull,  and,  carrying  it  tc  *ho 
ship-yard,  exhibited  it  before  the  workmen,  of  whom  his  brother  T>~ZM 
one.  'Whose  skull  is  it?'  inquired  this  young  man.  —  'I  s'pf.ie 
it 's  father's,'  said  Webber,  '  for  I  took  it  out  of  his  coffin,  1  'n» 
sure.' 

"  Webber  and  Bailey,"  continued  Parson  Wheatly,  "  were  still 
young  men,  though  strongly  marked  with  every  ordinary  token  of 
intemperance.  They  absented  themselves  from  meeting,  and  studi 
ously  avoided  me  upon  all  occasions.  In  short,  they  were,  to  all 
common  observation,  irreclaimable,  when  the  temperance  ref(  rm 
began  to  be  a  topic  of  interest  in  our  village.  —  But  you  shall  see 
with  your  own  eyes,  Mr.  Merrick,  and  hear  with  your  own  ears. 
They  have  entirely  reformed  ;  and,  with  their  wives  and  their  chil 
dren,  constitute  one  of  the  most  united  and  pious  families  in  my 
parish."  —  "  It  will  be  needful  for  me  to  start  at  an  early  hour," 
replied  Mr.  Merrick;  "and,  I  fear,  before  it  would  be  convenient 
to  pay  them  a  visit."  —  "  If  you  are  up  before  the  cooper  and  cur 
rier,"  said  Parson  Wheatly,  "  you  will  be  up  long  before  the  sun." 

The  next  day,  at  an  early  hour,  the  two  clergymen  rode  forth 
together.  It  was  a  fine  September  morning.  They  had  proceeded 
about  a  mile  and  three  quarters  on  their  way.  — "  Stop,"  said  Par 
son  Wheatly,  as  they  approached  the  opening  of  a  hickory  wood, 
"  do  you  hear  that  sound?'' —  "  What  is  it?"  said  his  companion. 
—  "  Why,  it  is  just  as  I  told  you  ;  that  rub  a  dub  dub  is  the  cooper's 
reveille;  he  is  driving  a  hoop,  and  you  see  the  sun  is  but  just  risen. 
Let  us  move  slowly  towards  the  cottage.  You  see  the  busy  house 
wife's  signal  —  the  smoke  is  curling  from  the  chimney  top  ;  and,  I 
day  say,  the  johnnycakes  are  already  at  the  fire.  There,  Mr.  Mer 
rick,  look  at  that  white  cottage,  with  green  blinds,  and  a  pretty 
garden  before  it.  It  is  provided,  at*  you  see,  by  the  double  doors, 
for  two  families.  That  is  the  residence  of  the  cooper  and  the  cur 
rier.  Three  years  ago,  it  was  a  perfect  hovel,  whose  fallen  fences, 
and  broken  windows,  proclaimed  its  occupant  to  be  a  drunkard.  Ho 
was  so.  It  was  the  property  of  old  Bill  Cleverly,  who  died,  cursing 
the  temperance  folks  with  his  latest  breath."  —  The  chaise  drew  up 
in  front  of  the  cooper's  shop.  "  Good  morning,  Mr.  Webber,"  said 

VOL.  II.  5* 


54  TOO  FAST  AND  TOO  F^R;  OR, 

Parson  Wheatly.  —  "Ah,  bless  me,  parson" — r.ib  a  dub  dub, 
"you  are  out  early,"  dub  dub  a  dub  —  "going  to  Shuffleton,  I 
s'pose,  with  Mr.  Merrick  "  — rub  dub  a  dub.  —  "  No,  we  have  come 
to  pay  you  and  Mr.  Bailey  a  short  visit,  Mr.  Webber."  —  "  Veiy 
much  obliged  to  ye,  parson,"  rub  a  dub  dub  —  rub  a  dub  dub. 
"  There,  I  b'lieve  that  hoop  '11  stick.  Come,  walk  in,  Peggy  '11  be 
rejoiced  to  have  ye  take  breakfast  with  us  —  sorry  brother  Bailey 
ind  his  wife  have  gone  to  the  city  —  went  off  by  dawn  o'  day."  — 
The  clergymen  endeavored  to  excuse  themselves  from  taking  break 
fast,  but  Peggy  was  importunate,  and  the  cooper  assured  them,  that 
his  boy,  Eli,  had  caught  some  fine  pickerel,  on  the  preceding  Sat 
urday  afternoon,  and  that  they  were,  at  that  moment,  in  the  spider. 
They,  accordingly,  were  prevailed  on  to  partake  of  the  cooper's 
repast.  Webber  then  produced  the  family  Bible,  and  read  a  chap 
ter  ;  and  Parson  Wheatly  made  a  prayer.  —  When  he  had  concluded, 
he  resumed  his  seat,  and  inquired  of  his  host,  if  he  were  so  much  at 
'eisure,  that  morning,  that  he  could  conveniently  give  them  a  small 
part  of  it.  —  "  With  all  my  heart,  Parson  Wheatly,"  said  he,  "  if  I 
can  be  useful,  for  I  can  drive  the  job  I  have  in  hand,  a  little  further 
into  the  evening."  —  "Mr.  Webber,"  said  Parson  Wheatly,  "T 
have  been  giving  my  brother  Merrick,  some  account  of  the  happy 
effects  of  the  temperance  reform  in  our  village.  T  well  know  how 
openly  you,  and  your  brother  Bailey,  are  in  the  habit  of  exhibiting 
your  own  conversion,  as  an  inducement  to  others  ;  and,  if  you  will 
do  me  the  favor  to  give  Mr.  Merrick  some  little  account  of  it,  I  shall 
be  much  obliged  to  you.  The  effect  of  such  a  narrative  may  be 
beneficial  elsewhere." 

"  Why,  gentlemen,"  said  the  cooper,  with  a  grave  expression 
upon  his  features,  "  I  shall  bless  the  day  when  the  reformation  came 
into  Eddington,  and  so  will  Peggy."  —  Peggy  Webber  had  removed 
the  breakfast  table  to  one  side  of  the  apartment,  and,  with  a  baby  in 
her  arms,  had  drawn  her  chair  into  the  circle.  —  "  Brother  Bailey 
and  I  have  often  said,"  continued  the  cooper,  "  that,  if  we  hadn't 
turned  about  just  as  we  did,  we  should  have  been,  as  like  as  not,  in 
tie  drunkaid's  grave,  by  this  time.  We  used  to  have  terrible 
q  mrrels,  and  all  about  nothing.  Rum  was  at  the  bottom  of  them 
all.  I  don't  really  think  we  should  have  had  any  bickering,  if  it 
nadn't  been  for  rum.  The  first  time  we  fell  out,  we  were  fuddled, 
both  of  us  ;  and  we  went  on  from  bad'  to  worse,  till  there  was  nc 
kind  of  ill  turn  that  Bailey  wouldn't  do  me,  and  I  wasn't  behind 
him  in  any  sort  of  mischief.  Our  wives  were  separated  from  each 
other,  and  there  was  a  complete  family  quarrel.  Bailey's  wife  and 
he  had  a  terrible  time  of  it ;  she  took  to  liquor,  and  he  handled  her 


THE  COOPER  AND  THE  CURRIER.  55 

roughly  enough.  That  poor  woman,"  said  he,  poii.ting  to  his  wife, 
"  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  too  ;  but  she  never  took  a  drop  of  the  vile 
poison.  She  never  gave  me  an  unkind  word  in  her  life ;  and,  if  I 
ever  lifted  my  finger  against  her,  in  anger,  it  must  have  been  when 
I  was  crazy  with  liquor."  — "  You  never  did,  George,"  said  Peggy 
Webber.  — "  Well,  I  am  grateful,"  continued  her  husband,  "  that 
I  have  not  that  sin  against  me.  However,  it  was  bad  enough.  We 
got  to  be  very  poor,  and  T  got  to  be  very  cross.  When  I  was  ill- 
natured,  Peggy  used  to  cry  ;  and,  when  I  was  only  melancholy,  she 
used  to  come  and  sit  down  by  me,  and  say  all  sorts  of  comforting 
things  ;  and,  whenever  she  thought  it  would  do,  she  would  urge  me 
not  to  drink  any  more  spirit.  I  lost  all  my  custom,  and  we  parted 
with  the  principal  part  of  our  furniture.  Our  house  got  to  be  full 
enough  of  misery,  if  it  was  emptied  of  everything  else.  I  couldn't 
pay  my  rent  any  longer,  and  our  landlord  began  to  talk  pretty 
roughly,  and  threatened  to  turn  us  out.  I  heard  there  was  a  good 
chance  for  coopers  at  New  Orleans,  and  asked  Peggy  if  she  was 
willing  to  go.  She  said  yes,  if  I  thought  it  the  best  course,"  but 
that  she  didn't  see  why  we  mightn't  get  on  here,  as  we  used  to. 
I  told  her  we  could  stay  here,  and  live  on  bread  and  water.  She 
replied,  that  she  should  be  truly  happy  to  do  so,  if  I  would  give  up 
spirit ;  that  she  knew  it  made  me  poor  and  wretched,  and  that  this 
made  her  so  ;  and  that  she  did  not  believe  our  misery  would  be 
lessened  by  a  change  of  residence,  but  by  a  change  of  habit,  which 
could  be  as  well  made  here  as  anywhere  else.  I  was  not  so  de 
graded  as  not  to  feel  the  force  of  what  Peggy  said. 

"  My  wife's  father  and  mother  were  dead.  There  was  a  shrewd, 
honest,  old  Quaker,  in  our  village,  —  you  know  who  I  mean,  Par 
son  "Wheatly  —  old  friend  Boynton,  as  we  call  him  —  he  was  a 
very  intimate  friend  of  my  wife's  father,  and  took  an  interest  in  his 
children,  and  used  to  visit  at  Bailey's  house  and  mine,  till  matters 
came  to  a  very  bad  state.  He  was  very  fond  of  Peggy  always.  He 
advised  her  to  persuade  me  to  go  and  hear  a  temperance  lecture.  I 
went  twice  ;  and,  though  I  had  nothing  to  say  against  the  lecturer, 
I  couldn't  help  smiling  to  think  how  little  he  knew  of  the  force  of 
a  tippler's  habits.  He  seemed  to  think  a  drinking  man  could  throw 
them  off.  as  easily  as  he  could  his  old  shoes.  I  knew  better,  as  I 
thought,  for  I  had  tried.  I  've  promised  Peggy  a  hundred  times, 
when  I  went  out  in  the  morning,  that  I  would  n't  touch  a  drop,  arid 
[  meant  to  keep  my  promise  too,  but  I  've  come  home  drunk  at 
night,  for  all  that. 

"  At  the  time  I  was  speaking  of,  when  the  landlord  threatened  to 
turn  us  out,  and  our  best  prospects  were  about  as  black  as  a  thun 


56  TOO  FAST  AND  TOO  FAR;   OR, 

doi-cloud,  Peggy  urged  me  to  make  a  visit  to  old  friend  Boynton, 
and  ask  his  counsel.  I  felt  rather  awkward  about  it,  for  I  had 
avoided  the  old  gentleman  of  late  ;  and,  whenever  I  met  him,  I  had 
put  on  a  sort  of  swaggering  gait,  which  a  drunkard  occasionally 
assumes  to  show  his  independence.  I  could  n't  refuse  Peggy's 
request,  however;  and,  besides,  I  felt  as  though  I  'd  give  the  world, 
if  I  had  it,  to  be  able  to  leave  off;  so  I  went  to  see  the  old  Quaker. 
"  I  made  my  visit  in  the  morning,  and  that  I  might  appear  decent, 
I  had  not  taken  a  dram  since  the  forenoon  of  the  preceding  day.  I 
found  the  old  gentleman  at  home.  He  relieved  me  of  all  my  awk 
ward  feelings,  in  an  instant,  by  his  kind  treatment.  '  Ah,  friend 
Webber,'  said  he,  '  I  am  glad  to  see  thee  ;  thee  hast  not  made  me  a 
visit  for  a  long  time  ;  how  is  Peggy,  thy  wife,  and  thy  little  one?' 

—  I  told  him  they  were  tolerably  well,  and  that  Peggy  had  sent  her 
respects  to  him.  — '  Peggy  was  always  a  good  child,'  said  he,  '  and 
she  maketh  thee  a  good  help  mate,  friend  Webber,  doth  she  not?' 
— '  A  thousand  times  better  than  I  deserve,'  said  I,  '  as  you  well 
know,  Mr.  Boynton.     If  I  did  n't  know  how  kindly  you  feel  to  my 
poor  wife,  I  could  n't  have  come  as  I  have  to  ask  you  to  help  me.' 

—  'And  pray,  friend   Wfebber,'  said  the  old   man,  'what  wouldst 
thee  have  me  to  do?     Thy  wife's  father  was  my  friend,  when  I  was 
a  boy,  when  the  heart  is  like  softened  wax,  and  impressions  are 
made  deeply.     There  are  people  in  the  world,  as  thee  well  knowest, 
friend  Webber,  whom  it  is  hard  to  serve,  but  Peggy  is  not  of  that 
number,  and  if  I  can  '  —  'I  have  not  come  a  begging,'  said  I,  inter 
rupting  him ;  '  I  have  not  come  to  ask  for  money,  meat,  fire,  or 
clothes ;  and  yet  I  have  come  to  ask  you  to  assist  me  to  pay  off  the 
heaviest  debt  that  a  man  can  owe  to  a  fellow-mortal.'  —  'And  pray 
what  may  be  the  nature  of  thy  debt,  friend  Webber?'   said  the 
Quaker,  evidently  with  a  little  distrust  as  to  the  condition  of  my 
mind,  and  the  real  object  of  my  visit.  —  '  I  will  tell  you,  sir,'  said  I. 
'  When  I  courted  my  wife,  I  made  her  fair  promises,  such  as  most 
men  make  on  such  occasions,  to  be  kind  to  her,  and  do  all  things  to 
make  her  happy.     These  promises  I  have  broken.     When  I  mar 
ried  her,  she  had  a  little  property,  which  you,  as  her  guardian,  had 
considerably  increased  :  this  property  I  have  squandered.     She  took 
me  for  a  sober  man,  and  I  have  proved  a  drunkard.     I  have  abused 
her  kindness  and  good  nature,  yet  she  has  never  given  me  a  harsh 
word  or  an  angry  look.     Many  times,  when  I  had  provided  nothing 
for  dinner,  and  supposed  her  without  a  mouthful  for  herself  and  her 
children,  she  has  sent  little  Eli  to  find  me,  and  let  me  know  that 
dinner  was  ready  ;  and,  when  I  have  returned,  not  unfrequently  from 
the  grog-shop,  I  have  found  her,  if  not  cheerful,  always  kind,  and 


THE  COOPER  AND  THE  CURRIER.  57 

glad  to  have  me  come  home,  for  I  have  always  loved  her,  however 
I  have  neglected  my  duty  towards  her  and  :he  children.  Peggy, 
somehow  or  other,  always  found  something  for  dinner,  a  few  roasted 
potatoes  or  a  dish  of  dandelions,  and,  after  Eli  got  to  be  old  enough 
to  catch  fish,  which  are  plenty  in  the  pond,  we  had  no  lack  of 
them  in  their  season.  At  such  times,  I  have  always  felt  heartily 
ashamed  of  myself,  and  have  solemnly  vowed,  again  and  again,  that 
I  would  never  touch  another  drop  of  spirit.  But  the  smell  of  it,  or 
the  sight  of  it,  or  the  very  thought  of  it,  has  crowded  my  good  res 
olutions  aside,  and,  in  a  day  or  two,  I  have  returned  home  intoxi 
cated.  Now,  sir,  if  I  could  only  cure  myself  of  this  dreadful  habit, 
I  could  be  happy,  and  so  would  Peggy.  If  there  was  no  spirit,  I 
could  earn  money  and  keep  it.  But  I  feel  unable  to  resist  the 
temptation,  that  is  to  be  found  at  every  corner.  Rum  has  ruined 
me.  I  have  disappointed  my  customers  so  often,  that  I  have  lost 
them  all.  I  have  nothing  to  do,  and  Roby,  our  landlord,  has  warned 
us  out.  Peggy  has  been  anxious  that  I  should  come  and  talk  with 
you,  and  take  your  advice ;  though  I  don't  see  how  that  will  be 
like  to  help  me.'  —  '  Thee  talkest  well  and  wisely,  friend  Webber,' 
said  the  Quaker  :  '  I  have  often  grieved  for  thee  and  thine,  and  have 
long  hoped,  that  thee  wouldst  come  to  reflect,  as  it  seemeth  thee 
has  done,  upon  the  fatal  consequences  of  thy  bad  habit.  I  thank 
thee  sincerely,  friend  Webber,  for  the  confidence  thee  seemest  to  place 
in  me,  and  thee  shalt  in  no  wise  be  the  worse  for  it.  Thee  hast  a 
just  view  of  this  matter,  and  thy  feelings  are  right,  and  thee  wishest 
heartily  to  reform ;  now  why  dost  thee  not  put  thy  name  to  the  tem 
perance  pledge  1  I  was  well  pleased  to  see  thee  at  the  lecture  about 
the  middle  of  the  fourth  month.'  — '  Oh,  sir,1  said  I,  '  I  cannot  do 
that,  for  T  should  never  be  able  to  keep  clear  of  the  temptation  :  I 
should  certainly  break  my  word,  and  be  worse  off  than  I  was  before. 
I  dare  not  trust  myself,  Mr.  Boynton.  I  don't  think  I  could  leave 
off  for  any  length  of  time,  unless  I  was  compelled  to  do  so,  in  some 
way  that  I  cannot  foresee.'  —  '  A^erily,'  said  the  Quaker,  after  a  long 
pause,  '  thy  case  is  an  interesting  one,  friend  Webber,  and  J  think 
better  of  thee,  than  if  thee  hadst  a  vain  confidence  in  thyself  and  thy 
powers  of  resistance.  I  cannot  advise  thee  to  any  course,  until  I 
have  considered  thy  matter  more  fully.  To-morrow  will  be  the 
Sabbath ;  wilt  thee  call  and  see  me  again  on  the  evening  of  the 
Monday  following?'  — '  I  will,  sir,' said  I. — As  I  was  rising  to 
depart,  the  old  gentleman  took  my  hand,  and  holding  it  in  both  of  his, 
looked  me  steadily  m  the  free,  with  such  an  expression,  as  a  kind 
father  would  bestow  upon  a  child,  whose  welfare  is  very  dear  to 
him.  —  'Friend  Webber,'  said  he,  'wilt  thee  oblige  me  in  one 


58  TOO  FAST   AND  TOO  FAR;  OB 

thing?'  —  'Very  gladly,  sir,'  said  I,  'if  it  is  in  my  power.'-— 
'  Well,  then,'  said  he,  '  as  I  wilh  thee  to  receive  such  counsel  as  1 
may  give  thee,  in  a  profitable  condition  of  mind,  wilt  thee  promise 
me  to  forbear  from  tasting  any  intoxicating  liquor  till  I  see  thee  on 
Monday  evening.'  —  '  I  '11  give  you  my  word  and  honor,  sir,'  said  I, 
'  that  I  will  not  touch  a  drop.'  —  '  And  may  the  Lord  help  thee,' 
said  the  old  man,  as  he  pressed  my  hand  with  great  earnestness. 

"  I  felt  better  for  my  visit.  I  found  that  I  had  a  friend,  for  Peg 
gy's  sake  at  least,  who  did  not  utterly  despise  me.  I  kept  my 
word  with  the  old  gentleman,  and  knocked  at  his  door  on  Monday 
evening,  with  something  like  the  confidence  of  an  honest  man.  lie 
opened  it  himself.  — '  I  am  right  glad  to  see  thee,'  said  he  ;  '  sit 
thee  down.  Well,  hast  thee  kept  thy  promise?' — 'Yes,  sir,'  I 
replied. — 'Thee  hast  not  tasted  spirit  since  I  last  saw  thee?'  — 
'  Not  a  drop,  sir,'  said  I.  — 'I  thought  so,1  he  replied  ;  '  thee  look- 
est  better  than  I  have  seen  thee  for  a  long  time.  Dost  thee  feel  any 
the  worse  for  it,  friend  Webber  ?'  —  '  No,  sir,'  said  I  ;  '  I  feel  bel 
ter  and  happier.'  — '  Well,  now  I  must  tell  thee,'  said  the  old  gen 
tleman,  '  that  I  have  been  so  much  engaged  since  our  last  meeting, 
that  thy  matter  has  not  occupied  my  attention  so  fully  as  it  ought. 
I  have  had  much  upon  my  hands  in  connection  with  our  conference, 
which  takes  place  on  Wednesday,  and  from  which  I  shall  not  return 
till  Thursday.  On  the  evening  of  that  day,  I  will  endeavor  to  pre 
pare  for  thee,  and  in  the  mean  while,  thee  wilt  promise  me  to 
abstain  until  that  time.'  —  I  gave  him  my  promise  and  took  my 
leave. 

"  In  the  interim  I  began  to  feel  the  want  of  occupation  ;  and,  hav 
ing  foreclosed  myself  from  seeking  it  at  the  grog-shop,  I  endeavored 
to  find  it  in  my  own." 

When  George  Webber  had  reached  this  part  of  his  narrative,  he 
perceived  that  Peggy  was  deeply  affected.  A  few  tears  had  fallen 
upon  her  infant's  hand,  which  the  child  raised  towards  its  mother, 
with  a  smile  of  wonder  upon  its  features,  while  its  eyes  were  turned 
inquiringly  upon  hers.  The  incident  had  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  clergymen.  —  "  You  are  thinking  of  old  times,  Peggy,"  said 
her  husband.  —  "  Yes,  George,"  she  replied,  "  I  can  never  forget 
that  week,  nor  how  I  felt,  when  I  told  Eli  to  go  over  to  the  tavern 
and  ask  you  to  come  home  to  dinner,  and  he  told  me  you  had  been 
sitting  at  work  on  the  shaving  horse  ever  since  breakfast.  I  always 
had  a  fondness  for  music,  but  I  never  listened  to  any  one  half  s* 
sweet  as  the  rub  a  dub  dub,  that  you  kept  up  upon  your  barrels  aftei 
your  return  from  visiting  good  old  friend  Boynton." 

Mr.  Merrick,  who  had  become  exceedingly  interested  in  the  coop 
er's  story,  begged  him  to  proceed. 


THE  COOPER  AND  THE  CURRIEK.  69 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  when  Thursday  evening  came, 
I  went  once  more  to  Mr.  Boynton's  house.  He  received  me  as 
kindly  as  ever.  'Thee  lookest  so  well,  friend  Webber,'  said  he, 
1  that  I  need  not  ask  thee  if  thee  hast  kept  thy  word.'  — '  I  have 
kept  it,  sir,'  said  I.  — '  And  is  not  thy  home  pleasanter,  and  thy 
wife  happier?' — 'Oh  yes,  sir,'  I  replied,  —  'have  you  made  up 
your  mind,  Mr.  Boynton,  as  to  any  course  which  would  be  best  for 
me.'  — '  I  owe  thee  an  apology,'  said  he,  '  for  thus  putting  off  the 
full  and  final  consideration  of  thy  matter  ;  but,  if  my  life  be  spared, 
and  thee  wilt  call  on  me  on  Monday  morning,  I  will  surely  give 
thee  my  advice.  —  We  have  killed  a  pig,  friend  Webber,  and  my 
wife  will  have  thee  take  along  a  roasting-piece  for  Peggy. — • 
Thee  wilt  keep  thy  promise,  I  trust,  until  we  meet  on  Monday.'  — 
I  thanked  the  old  gentleman  for  his  kindness,  and,  having  renewed 
my  promise,  I  returned  to  my  family. 

"  As  I  was  sitting  at  my  work,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me,  that 
I  had  already  reformed,  without  knowing  it.  I  sat  for  a  few  mo 
ments  upon  my  shaving  horse,  marvelling  at  my  own  stupidity,  in 
not  having  understood  the  old  gentleman's  drift  before.  I  had  not 
supposed  it  possible  to  abstain  for  twelve  hours,  and  yet  I  had 
already  tried  the  experiment  successfully  for  nearly  nine  days  ;  and, 
when  I  marked  the  increased  happiness  of  my  poor  wife,  and  the  light 
ness  of  my  own  spirits,  I  resolved  within  myself,  that  it  should  be 
something  more  than  a  nine  days'  wonder.  I  had  n't  been  inside  the 
meeting-house  for  about  a  year.  Saturday  night,  after  I  had  shut 
up  the  shop,  I  washed  myself  up  nicely,  and,  when  I  went  into  the 
house,  I  told  Peggy,  if  my  coat  wasn't  torn  so  badly,  I  'd  go  to 
meeting  with  her  next  day.  '  Why,  George,'  said  she,  '  I  '11  set 
up  till  morning  to  mend  it,  if  you  '11  go.'  — '  Do  go,  daddy,'  said 
Eli,  and  running  out,  he  got  my  bettermost  shoes,  and  began  to 
scrub  'em  up  for  Sunday.  I  remember  your  text,  that  morning, 
Parson  Wheatly,  and  I  applied  it  to  my  own  case  —  Let  us  not  be 
weary  in  well  doing,  for  ii  due  season  we  shall  reap,  if  we  faint 
not. 

"On  Monday  morning  I  went  to  see  my  landlord,  Mr.  Roby ; 
and,  when  I  told  him  that  I  had  left  off  spirit  and  meant  to  work,  he 
agreed  to  wait  for  his  rent. 

"  I  did  not  go  that  morning  to  see  Mr.  Boynton,  and,  in  the  after 
noon,  he  came,  of  his  own  accord,  to  visit  me.  — He  found  me  hard 
at  work.  '  Well,  friend  Webber,'  said  he,  '  thee  didst  not  keep  thy 
appointment.  I  hope  thee  hast  kept  thy  promise.' — '  Yes,  sir,' 
said  I,  '  I  have  kept  my  promise,  and  I  trust,  by  God's  help,  to 
Veep  it  to  the  end.  If  I  can  keep  it  for  ten  days,  I  begin  to  think 


60  TOO  FAST  AND  TOO  F<  R 

I  can  keep  it  for  ten  years,  and  to  the  end  of  my  life  ;  and  such,  I 
suppose,  though  I  did  not  understand  you  at  first,  is  the  substance  of 
the  advice  you  intended  to  give  me.'  — 'Yea,  verily,  friend  Web 
ber,'  said  he,  with  a  benevolent  smile,  '  I  can  do  no  m^re  for  thee 
than  thou  hast  done  for  thyself.  If  all,  who  a>r  given  to  strong 
drink,  would  make  the  effort,  as  thee  hast  uor.e,  the  path  of  refor 
mation  would  be  found  much  easier  than  it  is  supposed  to  be  " 

"  Good  old  friend  Boynton  spread  the  news  of  my  reformation, 
and  I  soon  had  as  much  busines?  °.s  I  could  turn  my  hands  to  ;  and 
from  that  time  to  this,  Peggy  has  had  no  lack  of  that  music  that 
she  tells  you  she  is  so  fond  of. 

;i  If  I  am  a  better  man  than  I  was,  your  preaching,  Parson 
Wheatly,  with  God's  blessing  thereon,  has  had  its  share  in  making 
me  so.  About  two  months  after  I  left  off  spirit,  Peggy  and  I  went 
over  together  to  see  brother  Bailey  and  his  wife.  He  was  sick  in 
bed,  and  both  were  quite  sober.  They  were  greatly  surprised  at  our 
visit.  Peggy  went  up  and  kissed  her  sister,  and  I  shook  hands  with 
them  both.  I  told  them  that  we  had  come  to  ask  their  forgiveness 
for  all  the  hard  thoughts,  words,  and  deeds,  which  we  had  ever 
indulged  or  committed  towards  them.  They  behaved  better  than  I 
had  supposed  they  would.  You  know,  Parson  Wheatly,  how  it  has 
all  come  round.  It  took  a  long  time  to  bring  it  all  right,  but  we 
have  all  four  been  members  of  the  temperance  society  for  years,  and 
I  believe  there  are  few  better  friends  than  brother  Bailey  and  I ;  and 
if  there  is  no  happiness  under  this  roof,  there  is  none  in  Eddington." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Merrick  became  a  devoted  friend  of  the  temperance 
cause.  At  parting,  he  assured  Mr.  Wheatly  that  he  was  desirous 
of  commencing  the  reformation  in  Shuffleton  as  speedily  as  possible  ; 
and  the  haste  with  which  he  finally  drove  off  from  the  door,  produced 
an  impression,  that,  where  the  bodies  and  souls  of  immortal  crea 
tures  are  at  stake,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion,  that  a  minister  of 
the  gospel  is  in  no  great  danger  of  going  too  fast  and  too  far. 


THE  STAGE-COACH. 


The  pyrotechnist,  after  an  exhibition  of  single  rockets,  until  he  has  reason  to  beherf ,  thfl  U>* 
puoiic  taste  may  possibly  demand  some  change,  occasionally  throws  then*  ut..  ty  the  half  d»»«n 
together.  In  the  performance  which  is  now  presented  to  the  reader,  we  have  followed  this  Uud»b,« 
example. 

The  substantial  parts  of  all  the  stories,  which  are  narrated  in  the  present  volume,  under  the  title 
or  iis  STAGE-COACH,  have  been  communicated  to  the  writer,  at  different  periods,  in  stage*, 
••-»ain-bo.us,  and  rail-road  cars.  They  have  been  selected,  for  the  present  publication,  from  an 
inaxhausiible  mass  of  materials,  gathered  in  a  similar  manner.  They  have  been  thus  selected,  oa 
account  of  the  entire  respectability  of  th;se  individuals,  from  whose  lips  they  were  received. 

More  than  one  of  the  tales,  which  are  now  presented,  will,  doubtless,  appear  extraordinary,  and 
•ven  improbable,  to  many  renders.  We  are  daily  instructed,  however,  that  the  legitimate  bounda 
ries  of  truh  are  sufficiently  comprehensive,  to  contain  much  that  is  wonderful  and  apparently  im 
probable.  In  every  instance,  wherein  a  reasonable  doubt  might  be  supposed  to  arise  in  the  reader's 
mind,  the  writer  of  these  tales  has  corresponded  with  those,  by  whom  the  stories  were  originally 
tdi-sJ,  »rd  obtained  from  them  a  written  narrative  of  the  important  facts. 

It  is  the  object  of  the  present  publication  to  illustrate  the  truth,  that  there  is  no  protection  againtl 
the  evils  of  intemperance  in  age,  or  sex,  or  condition  ;  —  that  the  holy  office  is  occasionally  brought 
into  contempt  by  intemperate  clergymen  ;  and  that  to  Him,  who  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold 
iniquity,  the  sin  of  drunkenness  is  equally  offensive,  whatever  the  means  may  be,  whereby  it  U 
produced. 


PART  FIRST. 

HAVING  tried  the  strength  of  my  lungs  and  the  patience  of  an 
indulgent  assembly,  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  having  engaged  my 
passage  in  the  coach,  which  starts  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
for  the  village  of ,  I  returned  to  my  inn,  and,  request 
ing  the  bar-keeper  to  have  me  called  in  season,  was  shown  to 
my  apartment.  I  perceived,  with  some  surprise  and  regret,  that 
there  were  three  single  beds  in  the  chamber,  and  one  barely  large 
enough  to  accommodate  two  persons  of  moderate  stature,  who  were 
sufficiently  disciplined  to  be  content  with  their  respective  allotments. 
The  single  beds  were  occupied.  —  Upon  our  entry,  — "  'Pon  my 
voord,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  sleepers,  jumping  out  of  bed,  "  it  ish 
de  stage  come  for  me  ;  vat  ish  de  time*  sard"  —  "  No,  no,"  said 
the  bar-keeper;  " it 's  not  eleven  yet ;  your  stage  will  not  be  along 
for  several  hours."  —  "  Sare,  I  tank  you  for  your  politeness ;  a  leetil 
more  sleep  I  vill  'ave ;"  and  he  stepped  back  into  his  bed,  with  a 
b.-^j  which,  however  graceful  it  might  have  been,  in  the  costume 
of  the  drawing-room,  appeared  supereminently  ridiculous  in  his  robe 
dc  nuit.  —  "  Heigh-ho  !"  said  another,  as  he  turned  over,  somewhat 
impatiently,  in  his  bed.  —  "  You  have  no  objection,  I  suppose,  sir," 
said  the  bar-keeper,  addressing  me,  "  to  sleeping  with  another 
(gentleman."  —  "I  have,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  and  you  know  well  enough, 

VOL.  ii.  6 


62  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

that  you  have  no  right  to  suppose  any  such  thing  ;  for  I  er  gaged  a 
single  bed,  and  you  promised  me  that  I  should  have  it."  —  "  Why, 
yes,  sir,"  he  replied ;  "but  it's  court  week,  and  we  are  very  full 
to-night.  To-morrow  night,  sir,  we  can  give  you  a  single  bed,  and 
a  room  to  yourself."  —  "  My  friend,"  said  I,  "  I  cannot  convenient 
ly  wait  till  to-morrow  night,  before  I  go  to  bed,  for  I  am  very  weary. 
I  shall  pay  your  bill,  when  you  call  me  in  the  morning,  and,  accord 
ing  to  your  engagement,  you  must  permit  me  to  sleep  alone."  — 
"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  bar-keeper,  shutting  the  door,  as  he 
retired,  with  unnecessary  violence.  —  "  You  sarve  'im  right,  sare," 
cried  the  Frenchman,  for  such  his  dialect  proclaimed  him  to  be , 
"  vat  he  promish  you,  dat  he  must  parform  :  dat  ish  de  law  of 
France ;  so  it  ish  in  England,  and  de  Low  Countries,  and  indeed, 
sare,  wherever  I  has  been.  I  vill  be  your  vitness,  sare,  wiz  great 
pleasure,  of  all  vat  he  say.  If  I  vas  not  in  bed,  sare,  I  would  have 
de  satisfaction  to  hand  you  my  card,  but  de  morning  vill  do."  — 
"  Yes,  yes,"  said  I,  desirous  of  getting  rid  of  this  troublesome  fel 
low,  "  the  morning  will  do."  —  I  was  soon  undressed,  and  in  bed. 
I  turned  upon  my  side,  in  the  very  centre  of  it.  For  the  purpose 
of  satisfying  any  new-comer,  that,  in  the  language  of  certain 
placards  on  the  doors  of  manufactories,  there  was  no  admittance, 
except  on  business,  I  disposed  my  limbs,  as  nearly  as  possible,  in 
the  form  of  the  very  last  letter  in  the  alphabet.  —  I  was  striving 
to  sleep,  when  I  was  again  aroused  by  my  unknown  friend :  — 
"  Monsieur,  —  mistare,  —  I  regret  I  cannot  call  your  name,  sare,  — 
you  vill  excuse  de  omission."  —  "What  do  you  want?"  said  I, 
with  some  impatience.  —  "Vat  Ivant?"  said  he,  "netting,  sare, 
only  about  de  card  ;  I  go  off  so  long  afore  de  day,  dat  I  vas  fear  I 
should  not  be  able  to  hand  you  my  card,  wizout  disturbing  your 
rapose."  — "  I  care  nothing  about  the  card,"  said  I ;  "I  wish  to 
sleep,  if  possible." — "  So  do  I,"  cried  the  person  who  had  shown 
some  impatience  upon  our  first  entry,  "  and  I  '11  be  much  obliged  to 
you,  mister,  if  you  '11  stop  your  outlandish  powwow  till  daylight." 
— "  Vary  veil,  sare,"  cried  the  Frenchman;  and,  after  humming 
the  fraction  of  a  tune,  for  a  few  seconds,  to  conceal  his  irritation, 
he  remained  perfectly  silent. 

During  this  period,  the  occupant  of  the  other  singJe  bed,  an 
experienced  traveller,  no  doubt,  gave  intelligible  evidence  of  his 
profound  slumber,  by  snoring  energetically.  I  was  totally  unaccus 
tomed  to  this  nocturnal  annoyance,  and  found  it  impossible  to  sleep. 
I  had  not  remained  long,  ruminating  upon  my  ill  fortune,  when  the 
person  who  had  silenced  the  Frenchman,  struck  in  with  his  nasal 
i,  in  such  an  extraordinary  manner,  that,  at  first,  I  really 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  65 

supposed  it  to  be  the  performance  of  a  waking-  wag,  who  finding 
sleep  impracticable,  had  resolved,  for  his  amusement,  to  mai  e  night 
as  hideous  as  possible.  Its  long  continuance,  however,  satisfied  me 
that  it  was  no  joke,  but  an  awful  reality.  Now  and  then,  it  was 
even  alarmingly  stertorous  and  apoplectic.  The  inspiration  of  one 
of  these  trumpeters  was  so  precisely  coincident  with  the  expiration 
of  the  other,  that  the  sound  became  perfectly  continuous.  We  are, 
some  of  us,  so  constituted,  that,  when  our  troubles  are  not  of  an 
aggravated  nature,  misery  will  occasionally  be  converted  into  mirth. 
Vexed  and  disappointed  as  I  was,  I  found  myself  exceedingly  dis 
posed  to  laugh  outright.  At  length,  the  loudest  snorer  suddenly 
suspended  his  operations,  and  the  Frenchman,  who,  I  had  supposed, 
was  fast  asleep,  exclaimed,  "  Tank  Haven,  von  of  dem  ish  dead." 
This  stroke  of  humor  was  perfectly  irresistible,  and  the  loud  laugh 
ter,  which  it  drew  from  me,  awakened  the  whole  group.  "  What 
d'ye  make  such  a  noise  for?"  cried  the  stertorous  gentleman; 
"  can't  you  let  a  body  sleep  in  peace?"  —  "  Veil,  veil,  sare,"  cried 
the  Frenchman,  as  he  turned  over,  "  now,  maype,  ve  vill  tak  a  fair 
start  vonce  more." 

The  vis  inertia  within  me,  which,  for  the  present  occasion,  at 
least,  may  be  translated  the  energy  of  drowsiness,  enabled  me  to 
lock  fast  my  senses,  before  the  serenade  recommenced.  The 
powers  of  slumber  seemed  determined  to  make  up,  in  profoundness, 
all  which  they  had  lost  in  time.  The  quality  of  sleep  is  often  of 
more  importance  than  the  quantity.  From  such  deep,  deathlike 
slumber,  it  is  exceedingly  painful  to  be  suddenly  aroused.  The 
sensation  was  eminently  disagreeable,  therefore,  when  I  was  awak 
ened  by  a  violent  shake  of  the  shoulder.  I  supposed  I  had  overslept 
myself,  and  asked  if  the  stage  was  ready.  —  "  I  've  been  trying  to 
wake  you,  mister,  for  ten  minutes,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  and  I  'm  most 
froze,  standing  in  the  cold.  Won't  you  jest  move  to  your  side  of 
the  bed."  —  I  now  began  to  comprehend  the  case,  and,  rubbing  my 
eyes,  beheld  an  uncommonly  corpulent  man,  who  had  undressed 
himself  for  the  night.  He  had  one  foot  on  the  frame  of  the  bed 
and  held  the  candle  in  his  hand,  which  he  was  just  ready  to  extin 
guish.  —  "Sir,"  said  I,  "you  have  been  imposed  on.  I  have 
engaged  this  bed  for  myself,  and  shall  not  consent  to  your  getting 
into  it."  —  "  This  is  pretty  tough,"  said  he  ;  "I  'm  froze  to  death, 
I'most."  —  "You  had  better  call  the  inn-keeper,  and  get  him  to 
accommodate  you  elsewhere,"  said  I.  —  "  I  'm  fear'd  he  's  gone  to 
bed,  and  all  shot  up,"  said  the  poor  fellow;  " howsomesever,  I'll 
try."  —  He  did  try,  and  he  certainly  succeeded.  He  rushed  into 
the  centre  of  the  entry,  in  his  undress,  and  holloaed  at  the  top  of  hit 


64  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

lungs  :  — "  Holloa  !  Mr.  Stuffem,  holloa !  This  ere  man  won't  let 
me  get  into  bed,  holloa!  holloa!"  —  The  disturbance  which  fol 
lowed,  so  far  as  I  could  judge,  was  rather  extensive.  I  heard  voices 
in  all  parts  of  the  house  ;  doors  were  opened  in  all  directions.  "  Is 
it  fire  ?"  inquired  a  female  voice.  —  "  What 's  to  pay  there  T'  cried 
the  host.  —  "  Stage  come,  — hey  ?"  cried  several  persons  at  once. 
At  length,  the  bar-keeper  appeared,  explained  the  cause  of  the  dis 
turbance,  and  led  off  his  shivering  customer  to  another  apartment. 

We  had  scarcely  recovered  from  this  annoyance,  before  the  cham 
ber  door  was  opened  by  the  porter  with  a  light :  —  "  Eastern  mail 's 
coming,  —  hear  the  horn  on  the  hill  now,  —  French  gentleman's 
baggage  ready  ?"  —  "  Dat  ish  myself,"  cried  the  Frenchman,  leap 
ing  out  of  bed.  — "  Where  's  your  baggage,  sir?"  —  "Baggage? 
— vat  you  mean  —  de  big  tronk?  —  no,  sare,  me  no  have  'em.  I 
vill  bring  down  my  baggage  wiz  myself,  sare."  —  "  You  '11  have  to 
make  haste,  —  the  mail  only  stops  three  minutes  to  shift  horses."  — 
"  Tree  minnit !  —  no  more  ?  —  'pon  my  voord  ! "  —  The  little  French 
man  made  all  possible  expedition.  In  a  short  time,  the  porter's 
voice  was  again  heard  at  the  door: — "All  ready  —  mail  can't 
wait."  — "  Immadiately,  sare,"  cried  the  Frenchman;  "whew, 
whew,  whew,  —  come,  Gabrielle."  Upon  this  signal,  a  lapdog 
sprang  out  of  the  bed,  and  shook  its  shaggy  locks  and  tinkling  bell. 
The  Frenchman  seized  a  little  bundle,  which  probably  contained  the 
bulk  of  his  earthly  possessions,  real,  personal,  and  mixed,  placed 
upon  his  left  arm  a  leather  fiddle-case,  and  the  favorite  Gabrielle, 
and,  as  he  hurried  from  the  room,  stopped  for  an  instant  at  my  bed 
side,  to  say,  "  Sare,  dis  ish  my  card,  vich  I  have  de  honor  to  pre 
sent ;  adieu,  monsieur."  Down  ran  the  little  Frenchman,  and  in  a 
moment  I  heard  the  coach  door  close,  the  crack  of  the  whip,  and 
the  rumbling  of  the  wheels,  as  the  vehicle  rolled  away  over  the 
rough,  frozen  ground. 

I  looked  at  my  watch  ;  —  it  was  half  past  two  o'clock.  Half  an 
hour  remained  to  me,  before  the  arrival  of  the  northern  stage.  As 
f  have  always  felt  no  inconsiderable  degree  of  embarrassment  and 
chagrin,  when  others,  high  or  low,  have  been  detained  on  account 
of  my  delay,  I  rose  and  began  to  dress  myself.  — I  hact  just  finished 
my  toilet,  and  strapped  my  trunk,  when  the  vehicle  arrived.  The 
j/orter  met  me  at  the  door.  "  Ay,  sir,"  said  he,  as  he  threw  my 
baggage  upon  his  shoulder,  "  I  wish  all  other  folks  was  as  punctual 
as  your  honor."  —  "  Well,  my  friend,"  I  replied,  "  if  the  past  night 
is  a  fair  sample  of  those  which  are  to  come,  there  will  be  little 
sleeping  in  this  house,  and  you  will,  of  course,  be  spared  the  trouble 
of  waking  your  guests."  —  It  waa  extremely- dark.  A  little  per 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  66 

sonal  contact,  as  I  entered  the  coach,  assured  me  that  there  were 
other  passengers  there.  I  was  much  pleased  to  find  that  my  favor 
ite.  scat  was  unoccupied.  Having  no  partiality  for  a  back  seat,  T 
prefer  to  place  myself  where  I  shall  be  least  liable  to  interruption, 
upon  the  subsequent  introduction  of  elderly  persons  or  females.  I 
was  soon  firmly  planted  in  a  corner  of  the  front  seat,  with  my  back 
towards  the  horses,  and  my  right  shoulder  to  the  canvass.  It  was 
ver}  cold ;  the  floolr,  however,  was  abundantly  supplied  with  straw 
for  the  comfort  of  our  feet ;  and  the  coach  was  made  as  close  as 
possible.  — "  Frosty  morning,"  said  one  of  the  company,  shortly 
after  we  had  started  on  our  way.  This,  however,  as  Goldsmith 
pleasantly  observes,  in  his  history  of  the  club  of  savans,  having  been 
addressed  to  no  one  in  particular,  no  one  felt  himself  bound  to 
answer  it.  We  had  not  ridden  far,  before  the  smell  of  brandy 
became  very  perceptible. 

The  present  exhibition  of  any  instrument,  which  has  been  em 
ployed  for  the  destruction  of  a  friend  or  neighbor,  is,  of  course, 
exceedingly  revolting.  I  once  knew  an  amiable  woman,  who  was 
immediately  reduced  to  a  condition  of  palpable  misery,  by  the  slight 
est  effluvium  of  musk,  because  her  infant  child  had  been  destroyed, 
though  many  years  before,  by  its  injudicious  administration,  under 
the  direction  of  an  unskilful  physician.  I  have  read,  in  a  work  of 
high  reputation,  an  account  of  a  gentleman,  whose  nervous  system 
was  by  no  means  remarkably  excitable  on  common  occasions,  but 
who  instantly  fainted,  at  the  smell  of  opium,  because  his  only 
daughter  had  fallen  a  victim  to  its  accidental  employment  in  a  liquid 
form.  These  recollections  presented  themselves  before  my  mind,  as 
we  rode  along  in  silence,  and  in  the  dark.  Wherefore  is  it  thus?  I 
inquired  within  myself.  Why  does  not  this  disagreeable  odor  — 
which,  by  the  way,  was  becoming  more  powerful  every  moment,  as, 
in  our  closed  vehicle,  it  was  generated  much  faster  than  it  could 
possibly  escape  —  why  does  not  this  odor  frequently  produce  the 
very  same  effects?  Brandy  has  destroyed  millions  of  mankind. 
Yet  I  have  known  a  father,  whom  it  had  deprived  of  three  children, 
and  who  still  drank  it  with  delight,  while  he  invoked  from  on  high, 
or,  in  more  accurate  language,  from  below,  innumerable  curses  upon 
the  temperance  reform.  I  have  known  a  childless  widow,  whose 
husband  and  children  had  been  destroyed  by  this  fatal  beverage,  still 
place  the  poisoned  chalice  to  her  lips,  and  apparently  prefer  its  odor 
to  that  of  the  rose  or  the  violet.  And  why  is  it  thus  ?  The  ship 
wreck  of  a  hundred  emigrants,  and  the  loss  of  all  their  lives,  would, 
for  the  moment,  be  less  likely  to  abstract  the  attention  of  the  busy 
world  from  theii  multiplied  engagements  and  cares,  than  the  fall  and 

VOL.  ii.  6* 


66  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

consequent  destruction  of  a  single  aeronaut,  in  the  centre  of  some 
great  city.  The  first  of  these  calamities  occurs  in  the  way  of  profit 
able  business,  and  the  other  is  the  result  of  an  idle  and  hazardous 
experiment.  The  first  announcement  of  the  bursting  of  a  boiler, 
and  the  consequent  death  of  a  single  human  being,  when  circulated 
through  the  land,  produced  everywhere  a  sensation  of  astonishment 
and  horror.  Steam-boats  were  then  mere  problems,  and  locomotive 
engines  upon  rail-roads  were  unknown.  But  now  they  have  become 
established,  and  are  parts  of  our  very  mode  of  existence.  They 
have  virtually  contributed  to  bring  the  ends  of  the  earth  as  near 
again  together,  as  they  were  before  their  employment,  by  an  equiva 
lent  saving  of  time,  in  transitu.  They  are  justly  ranked  among  the 
most  productive  sources  of  emolument.  To  be  sure,  the  loss  of 
life,  which  they  produce  at  the  present  day,  is  enormous ;  but  it 
seems  to  be  considered  of  ittle  account,  beyond  a  brief  ejaculatory 
paragraph  in  some  public  journal,  whose  editor  happens  not  to  be 
interested  in  the  stock.  They  are  profitable,  and  that  is  enough. 
The  indebtedness  of  the  concern  for  so  much  human  flesh  and  blood, 
sacrificed  in  its  operations,  is  supposed  to  be  sufficiently  balanced  by 
the  profit,  which  the  speculation  unquestionably  yields.  —  Brandy, 
and  all  other  intoxicating  liquors,  are  articles  of  commerce.  They, 
also,  individually  and  collectively,  have  produced  innumerable 
deaths.  But  there  is  a  distinction  to  be  considered  here,  which  is 
obvious  and  broad  :  the  application  of  steam  power  is  eminently  use 
ful  to  mankind  ;  those  who  are  engaged  in  such  operations  as  are 
connected  with  its  use,  are  not  thereby  impelled,  as  by  an  irresistible 
demon,  to  the  commission  of  every  crime;  they  are  not  necessarily 
plunged  into  every  species  of  misery  ;  and,  instead  of  being  reduced 
to  poverty,  they  are  in  the  way  of  acquiring  their  daily  bread.  The 
very  reverse  of  all  this  is  true  in  regard  to  intoxicating  liquor,  for  it 
is  infinitely  worse  than  useless  as  a  beverage.  Here,  then,  is  an 
extraordinary  condition  of  things.  If  the  great  mass  of  those,  who 
traffic  in  intoxicating  drinks,  do  not  profess  to  be  Christians,  the 
great  majority  affect  to  be  tenacious  of  their  reputation  as  moral 
men  ;  and  yet  they  stop  not,  for  a  moment,  to  count  the  loss  of 
health,  and  property,  and  respectability,  and  life,  temporal  and 
eternal,  which  inevitably  follows,  as  a  consequence  of  their  traffic. 
Many  of  these  men,  who  would  repel  the  general  charge  of  immo 
rality,  are,  nevertheless,  perfectly  satisfied  with  a  vocation  like  this. 
Their  employment  is  lawful ;  and  the  mass  of  wretchedness  and  loss 
of  life,  which  follow,  are  matters  to  be  settled  between  the  con 
sumer  and  his  God !  —  The  end  is  not  yet,  thought  I ;  in  the  day 
of  judgment,  I  cannot  believe  it  will  be  determined  precisely  thus. 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  67 

I  continued  to  ruminate  in  this  manner,  as  we  rolled  silently  for 
ward  in  the  dark,  until  my  cogitations  were  interrupted  by  a  sound, 
precisely  similar  to  that,  produced  by  the  sudden  extraction  of  a  cork 
from  the  mouth  of  a  bottle.  The  noise  manifestly  originated  within 
the  vehicle,  in  which  we  were  riding ;  and  in  a  very  few  seconds, 
the  odor  of  the  brandy-cask  became  more  pungent  than  ever.  It 
really  appeared  to  me  a  measure  of  indecorum,  amounting  almost 
to  audacity,  in  the  present  era  of  comparative  purification,  to  travel 
with  a  brandy-bottle  in  a  stage-coach,  and  deliberately  to  draw  the 
cork  and  partake  of  its  contents,  in  the  company  of  others.  After 
a  short  time,  the  effluvium  became  so  exceedingly  disagreeable, 
associated  as  it  was  with  the  conviction,  that  it  came  into  my  own 
nostrils,  hot  and  reeking,  and  doubly  distilled,  from  the  gastric  ap 
paratus  of  some  human  being,  that  I  resolved  to  let  down  the  window 
of  the  carriage.  —  "  It  is  so  close,"  said  I,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  "  that  I  presume  no  one  will  object  to  a  little  fresh  air."  — 
"  Dat  ish  a  goot  move,  mynheer,"  said  one  of  the  passengers,  in  a 
rough  voice,  whom,  from  his  language  and  accent,  I  supposed  to  be 
a  Dutchman.  I  have  often  remarked,  that,  when  the  suspicion  of 
guilt  is  suddenly  awakened,  in  a  miscellaneous  company,  the  offender 
is  often  the  first  to  reply  to  any  observation,  which  stimulates  the 
consciousness  of  obliquity. — In  the  language  of  Paul,  I  "  wished 
for  day,"  that  I  might  behold  the  visage  of  this  barbarian,  who  had 
thus  violated  the  rules  of  common  decency.  But,  as  I  had  no  reason 
to  expect  its  speedy  approach,  I  rolled  myself  up  in  my  cloak,  and 
soon  fell  asleep.  My  slumber  was  once  or  twice  partially  inter 
rupted,  by  a  sort  of  imperfect  consciousness,  when  the  stage  occa 
sionally  stopped  upon  its  way.  When  I  awoke,  there  was  barely 
light  enough  to  examine  my  watch,  and  I  was  gratified  to  find  1 
had,  for  nearly  two  hours,  enjoyed  unbroken  slumber.  I  was  now 
able  to  discover  the  general  outlines  of  my  fellow-travellers.  Upon 
the  back  seat,  were  three  females.  Upon  my  left  hand,  and  on  the 
same  seat  with  myself,  were  two  of  my  own  sex,  and  the  middle 
seat  was  occupied  by  two  others.  Day  now  began  to  pour  in  upon 
us  rapidly,  and  the  dress  and  features  of  my  companions  were  clearly 
visible.  The  reader  may  rest  assured,  that  I  kept  a  sharp  look-out 
for  the  Dutchman.  When  any  individual,  whom  we  have  never 
seen,  has  made  an  agreeable  impression  upon  our  minds,  or  the 
reverse,  imagination  delights  to  play  the  statuary,  and  executes  a 
model  of  the  original  ;  but  how  very  frequently  we  are  compelled  to 
cast  it  down  as  faithless  and  unjust !  Upon  the  present  occasion, 
however,  I  had  ?.n  image  of  the  Dutchman  in  my  mind,  which  proved 
to  be  tolerably  correct.  In  selecting  him  from  the  group,  I  had 


88  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

fixed  my  eyes  upon  a  heavy,  round-shouldered  personage,  appai 
ently  about  five  and  fifty  years  o'*  age,  sitting  upon  the  middle  seat , 
his  complexion,  though  red  enough,  for  one  of  intemperate  habits, 
was  somewhat  clearer  than  I  should  have  expected.  He  wore  a 
comfortable  wrapper  of  huge  dimensions,  and  sat  with  both  hands 
resting  on  the  top  of  an  unpeeled  hickory  staff.  His  ample  coun- 
tenince  had  once  been  subjected  to  the  ravages  of  the  small-pox 
His  eyes,  which  were  uncommonly  small,  were  placed  in  his  head 
in  the  most  unneighborly  manner,  and  his  dark,  grizzly  hair,  which 
was  very  abundant,  hung  forth  in  every  direction,  from  under  a 
oroad-brimmed  hat,  not  much  the  worse  for  wear.  The  s'ill  expres 
sion  of  his  countenance  was  decidedly  severe.  I  was  not  left  long 
in  doubt,  if  I  had  singled  out  the  Dutchman.  His  little  twinkling 
eyes  no  sooner  encountered  mine,  than  he  exclaimed,  in  the  same 
gruff  voice,  motioning  with  his  head  towards  the  coach  window, 
"  He  vill  pe  foine  day." — I  replied  simply  by  nodding  assent,  and 
we  still  rode  on  in  silence.  By  his  side,  upon  the  same  seat,  and 
directly  opposite  to  my  left-hand  neighbor,  sat  a  well-dressed  young 
man.  He  upon  my  left  was  a  grave  personage  in  black,  who  'oore 
evident  marks  of  ill  health,  and  the  one  beyond,  upon  the  same  seat, 
was  apparently  a  gentleman,  and,  as  I  conjectured,  over  seventy 
years  of  age.  One  of  the  females,  who  sat  in  that  corner  of  the 
stage,  which  was  diagonally  opposite  to  mine,  possessed  uncommon 
comeliness  of  person.  I  judged  her  age  to  be  about  four  or  five  and 
twenty.  She  had  a  Tuscan  straw  bonnet,  prettily  lined  and  trim-; 
med,  an  exceedingly  neat  riding-cloak,  with  a  boa  round  her  neck, 
and  a  travelling-basket  of  wicker  on  her  lap.  Immediately  next  to 
her,  sat  a  decently-dressed  woman  of  forty,  bearing  in  her  coun 
tenance  those  peculiar  characteristics,  which  can  never  be  mistaken, 
whether  we  encounter  them  in  the  over-peopled  cellars  and  garrets 
of  a  city,  or  upon  their  secondary  emigration  to  the  far-away  west, 
and  which  mark,  beyond  the  possibility  of  misconception,  a  native 
of  the  Emerald  Isle.  The  corner,  directly  opposite  to  me,  was 
occupied  by  a  much  younger  woman,  who  had  still  the  marks  and 
numbers  of  personal  beauty.  She  was  extremely  pale,  however, 
and  dressed  in  the  deepest  mourning. 

The  silence  of  our  journey  was  finally  broken  by  the  eldeily  gen 
tleman,  who  sat  in  the  corner,  on  my  left  hand.  — 4i  I  attended  your 
lecture  last  evening,  sir,"  said  he,  addressing  himself  to  me;  — 
"  there  is  still  a  great  amount  of  intemperance  in  our  country."  — 
"Yes,  sir,"  I  replied,  "undoubtedly  there  is;  but  I  think  we  are 
apt  to  deceive  ourselves,  in  regard  to  that  aaiount,  because  our 
attention  is,  at  the  present  day,  more  likely  tc  be  attracted  by  indi- 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  09 

vidual  jases,  than  it  was  in  former  times."  While  I  uttered  tins 
reply,  looked  steadily  at  the  Dutchman.  He  discovered  not  the 
slightest  evidence  of  embarrassment,  but  instantly  exclaimed,  "  J)at 
ish  de  matter ;  von  trunkard  now  look  more  pig,  nor  foorty  ven  1 
vas  a  leetil  poy."  —  I  was  at  first  astonished  at  this  fellow's  impu 
dence,  who  was  accustomed,  as  I  entertained  not  the  shadow  of  a 
doubt,  to  travel  with  his  brandy-bottle  in  his  pocket ;  but  I  imme 
diately  recollected,  that  there  are  moderate  drinkers,  who,  whatever 
may  be  the  ultimate  result,  have  not  the  slightest  apprehension  of 
ever  becoming  drunkards.  This  man,  thought  I,  is  of  that  number. 
—  "I  never  fail,"  continued  the  elderly  gentleman,  "to  attend 
these  lectures,  for  I  think  highly  of  the  temperance  reformation,  as 
a  grand  moral  machine  ;  and  I  have  a  sufficient  reason,  of  a  private 
nature,  for  bidding  it  God  speed.  Some  lecturers  deal  in  nothing 
but  statistics  from  beginning  to  end ;  others  appear  to  think,  that 
intemperance,  and  all  its  awful  effects,  are  legitimate  subjects  for 
mirth.  Now  I  cannot  think  so.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  used  to 
laugh  at  the  serpentine  movement  of  a  drunkard.  I  used  to  follow 
and  hoot  at  him,  as  he  staggered,  and  pelt  him  perhaps,  when  he 
fell  in  the  mire.  But,  could  I  renew  my  youth  and  still  retain  my 
present  knowledge,  I  should  not  have  the  heart  to  do  so  again. 
When  I  see  a  poor  drunkard,  at  the  present  day,  I  follow  him,  in 
imagination,  to  his  hovel  of  misery,  —  the  trembling  wife,  the  vic 
tim  of  his  diabolical  career,  appears  before  me ;  I  see  his  terrified 
children,  as  they  fly  at  his  approach,  and  I  have  no  appetite  for 
laughter."  —  "  Poor  childher  !  dat  ish  roight,  mynheer,"  cried  the 
Dutchman,  as  he  raised  his  staff  a  few  inches,  still  grasping  the  end 
of  it  with  both  hands,  and  bringing  its  lower  extremity  with  some 
violence  upon  the  floor.  — This  is  an  extraordinary  creature,  said  I 
within  myself.  But  I  was  still  more  perplexed,  when,  in  an  instant 
after,  I  saw  him  brush  the  tear  from  his  eye.  After  all,  it  may  be 
nothing  but  the  brandy,  thought  I.  —  "  Sir,"  continued  the  old  gen 
tleman,  still  addressing  himself  to  me,  "  there  is  one  particular,  in 
which  I  think  you  gentlemen,  who  lecture  upon  temperance,  are 
strangely  mistaken ;  yon  direct  your  remarks  exclusively  to  your 
own  sex,  as  though  you  had  the  same  notions  of  intemperance  in 
women,  which  the  Athenians  entertained  of  parricide,. and  supposed 
the  crime  of  drunkenness  impracticable  by  females."  — "  Why, 
sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  who  sat  at  my  elbow,  and  who 
had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation  before.  "  you  will  admit,  that 
such  cases  are  exceedingly  rare."  —  "  No.  sir,"  replied  the  elderly 
gentleman,  "I  shall  admit  nothing  but  the  truth,  and  it  is  by  no 
means  true  hat  such  cases  are  exceedingly  rare  My  experience 


70  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

in  public  and  private  life,  for  many  years,  has  made  me  acquainted 
with  a  great  many  intemperate  women."  —  At  this  moment,  the 
Irish  lady  was  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  coughing.  —  "  Do  you  not 
think,  sir,"  inquired  the  gentleman  in  black,  "that  such  examples 
are  rare,  among  the  higher  orders  of  society?"  —  "As  far  as  my 
experience  has  gone,"  replied  the  other,  "there  are  more  drunken 
men,  among  the  lower,  than  among  the  higher  classes.  I  believe 
there  are  not  so  many  drunken  women  in  the  lower  ranks,  as 
drunken  men,  but  there  are  very  many.  Among  the  higher  classes, 
I  believe  the  proportion  of  the  drunken  women  to  the  drunken  men 
is  relatively  about  the  same.  Every  vice  may  be  so  qualified,  and 
adorned,  and  subtilized,  that  its  real  essence  may  be  as  effectually 
concealed,  as  the  principal  ingredient  in  a  quack  nostrum,  by  the 
presence  of  some  pungent,  essential  oil.  Vice  may  thus  pass 
unchallenged,  through  the  world.  Now  and  then,  some  sturdy 
herald  may  cry,  Who  goes  there!  But  such  evidences  of  fidelity, 
in  those  high  places,  where  sin  has  built  itself  a  citadel,  are  not 
often  the  passports  to  favor  and  promotion.  Drunkenness  in  high 
life,  you  must  remember,  is  not  so  disgusting  a  spectacle.  The 
-wife  of  a  common  laborer,  drunk  with  rum,  stretched  upon  the  floor 
of  their  dirty  kennel,  and  surrounded  by  a  group  of  filthy,  starving 
children,  is  certainly  a  revolting  object.  But  a  fine  lady,  splendidly 
arrayed,  who  happens  to  be  made  garrulous,  familiar,  inarticulate, 
and  at  last  sillily  or  stupidly  drunk  upon  champagne,  or  whiskey 
punch,  01  Madeira,  is  not  such  an  unattractive  object  after  all."  — 
"  Pray,  sir,"  again  inquired  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  what  do  you 
mean,  by  the  word  drunk,  in  these  examples?"  —  "I  mean  this, 
sir,"  replied  the  other :  "  when  a  female  is  in  such  a  condition,  that 
she  solicits  or  permits  familiarities,  by  word  or  look,  from  the  othei 
sex,  which  she  would  not  permit,  and  much  less  solicit,  were  it  not 
for  the  champagne,  she  is  then  drunk.  But  this  is  not  all,  sir:  go 
and  ask  any  respectable  female,  who  has  seen  much  of  gay,  fash 
ionable  life,  if  the  wine,  and  hot  whiskey  punch,  and  liqueurs,  con 
sumed  by  young  girls,  and  old  girls,  and  married  ladies,  at  routs, 
assemblies,  and  balls,  are  not  frequently  used  in  such  measure,  as  to 
disturb  the  functions  of  the  brain  and  nerves  in  an  obvious  manner, 
and  you  may  be  sure  of  an  affirmative  answer." 

During  this  conversation,  the  passengers,  with  a  single  exceplion. 
were  extremely  attentive  to  the  old  gentleman's  remarks,  who  spoke 
with  the  air  of  a  man,  who  had  witnessed  the  very  effects,  which  he 
so  naturally  described.  The  pretty  woman  in  the  Tuscan  straw 
had  been  sitting  for  some  time  with  her  eyes  closed.  —  "Female 
drunkenness,"  continued  the  elderly  gentleman,  *  is  not  confined  to 


THE  S1AGE-COACH.  71 

the  two  extremities  of  social  life :  there  is  a  large  proportion  among 
the  middling  classes.  Why,  sir,"  said  he,  "I  have  seen  a  well- 
dressed  young  female  of  that  rank  of  society,  go  deliberately  to  a 
tavern  bar,  early  in  the  morning,  and  take  her  dram,  and  have  her 
brandy-bottle  filled  before  she  took  her  seat  in  the  stage-coach."  — 
"Tender!"  cried  the  Dutchman,  rolling  up  his  eyes. — At  this 
moment,  the  young  woman  in  the  Tuscan  appeared  to  awaken  from 
her  slumbers.  She  drew  her  cloak  more  closely  about  her  neck, 
and  seemed  to  become  very  suddenly  engaged  in  the  adjustment  of 
her  bonnet  and  curls.  —  "  Sir,"  continued  the  old  gentleman,  whose 
experiences  were  like  the  contents  of  the  widow's  cruise,  "  I  have 
known  this  very  young  woman,  of  whom  I  now  speak,  within  half 
an  hour  from  the  time  when  she  took  her  first  dram  at  the  bar, 
draw  forth  the  stopper  of  the  casket,  that  contained  her  jewel,  and 
take  another,  as  she  travelled  in  the  public  coach."  — "  Vy, 
mynheer,"  exclaimed  the  Dutchman,  "vat  a  salt  herring  of  a 
woman  dat  must  pe  !"  —  "  Mister,"  cried  the  young  woman  in  the 
Tuscan,  addressing  the  elderly  gentleman,  with  an  expression  of  ill 
nature,  "  why  can't  you  let  the  women  alone,  and  talk  about  the 
drunken  men?  there  are  enough  to  serve  your  turn,  I  'm  sure."  — 
"  If  my  remarks  are  unpleasant  to  you  or  any  other  person  in  the 
carriage,"  replied  he,  with  much  suavity  of  manner,  "I  will  cer 
tainly  not  continue  them."  —  "I  don't  care  whether  you  do  or 
not,"  she  rejoined;  "it's  very  ridiculous  for  )nu  to  tell  about 
women's  drinking  brandy  in  the  stage.  I  don't  believe  it.  Here  's 
three  of  us;  now  which  was  it?"  —  "I  have  made  no  accusation 
against  any  person  present,  my  good  woman,"  replied  the  old  gen 
tleman.  —  "  Your  good  woman !"  retorted  the  Tuscan  ;  "  I  'm  not 
your  good  woman  neither,  by  a  great  sight,  and  I  guess  now,  mis 
ter,  you  better  mind  your  business,  and  hold  your  impudent  slack." 
—  "  Shlack !"  said  the  Dutchman  ;  "  vat  ish  dat?"  as  he  lifted  up 
his  hands  in  amazement,  and  half  timidly  turned  his  head  to  behold 
the  speaker.  —  The  old  gentleman  made  no  reply,  but  his  uncom 
monly  expressive  countenance  was  full  of  things  unutterable. — 
Here,  then,  was  an  edaircissement.  Of  course  I  had  done  manifest 
injustice  to  the  poor  Dutchman,  for  which  I  would  most  cheerfully 
have  craved  his  pardon.  We  rode  on,  for  a  few  moments,  in 
silence  ;  the  interchange  of  glances  among  the  company  establishing 
the  fact,  that  not  a  doubt  remained  in  regard  to  the  real  nature  of 
the  case,  or  the  identity  of  the  guilty  party. 

During  the  short  silence,  which  ensued,  I  turned  my  eyes 
upon  this  young  woman,  whom  I  had  thought  so  uncommonly 
pretty  ;  a  marvellous  change  had  taken  place  in  her  appearance, 


T8  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

within  a  brief  space,  or  the  new  associations,  which  had  arisen  in 
my  mind  in  regard  to  her,  had  operated  strangely  upon  my  powers 
of  vision,  in  her  agitation,  she  had  thrown  her  dress  into  some 
little  disorder  :  her  hair  had  fallen  down  ;  and  her  bonnet,  acciden 
tally,  or  perhaps  to  avoid  our  scrutiny,  had  become  drawn  to  ere 
side  of  her  face.  She  seemed  not  to  sit  very  firmly  in  her  seat. 
Occasionally  I  obtained  a  fair  view  of  her  features.  I  could  not 
doubt,  that  the  brandy  she  had  taken,  upon  an  empty  stomach,  had 
already  affected  the  brain  and  nerves.  Her  eyes  had  lost  a  portion 
of  their  brilliancy ;  her  color  was  heightened  to  a  remarkable 
degree  undoubtedly  in  part  from  anger ;  her  lips  were  apart,  and 
wore  that  dry,  yet  varnished  appearance,  which  is  not  unusual  with 
intoxicated  persons;  and  the  general  expression  of  her  features 
was  characterized  by  that  air  of  defiance,  which  is  not  unfrequently 
exhibited  by  a  guilty  person,  who,  though  conscious  of  being  sus 
pected,  is  still  confident  in  the  insufficiency  of  the  evidence  against 
him.  While  I  was  occupied  in  contemplating  her  countenance,  some 
movable  article,  upon  the  floor  of  the  vehicle,  now  and  then  struck 
against  my  foot :  I  cast  down  my  eyes  to  ascertain  the  cause,  and 
observed  a  flat  bottle,  of  that  description,  which,  in  the  cant  dialect 
of  travellers,  is  called  a  pistol.  It  was  about  half  full  of  some 
dark-colored  liquor.  1  had  no  doubt  that  it  was  our  fair  Tuscan's 
bottle,  and  that  its  contents  were  brandy.  A  rapid  combination  of 
circumstances  instantly  accounted  for  its  present  location  on  the 
floor  ;  her  willow  basket,  to  which  I  have  already  alluded,  was  pro 
vided  with  a  cover  opening  on  each  side  ;  it  rested  on  her  lap  ;  the 
jolting  of  the  carriage,  and  the  difficulty  of  keeping  her  balance,  had 
canted  the  basket ;  the  cover,  on  the  side  towards  me,  had  fallen 
open ;  the  bottle  had  escaped,  and,  sliding  softly  over  her  cloak, 
had  fallen,  unnoticed,  upon  the  straw.  I  took  it  up,  unobserved  by 
her,  and  placed  it  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage  behind  me. 

Our  elderly  companion,  who  had  been  completely  silenced,  by 
the  unexpected  harshness  of  the  Tuscan's  retort  upon  him,  felt  him 
self  sufficiently  strengthened,  by  this  little  incident,  which  occurred 
under  his  eye,  to  renew  the  conversation.  "  We  are  not  far  frorr 
the  inn,  where  we  breakfast,"  said  he,  looking  at  his  watch  ;  "  I 
shall  relish  a  dish  of  coffee,  and  those,  who  prefer  brandy,  I  have 
no  doubt,  will  be  accommodated,  for  the  temperance  reform  has 
effected  very  little  here,  among  the  hills." — "  Mister,"  said  the 
Tuscan,  "  I  guess  you  love  brandy  as  well  as  other  folks.  If 
you  rll  only  have  patience  till  you  get  to  the  tavern,  you  '11  get  a 
plenty,  and  I  guess  there  's  none  any  nearer."  —  "  Young  woman, 
I  believe  you  are  mistaken,"  said  I,  holding  up  the  brandy-bottia 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  71 

before  her  eyes.  —  The  effect  was  electrical.  It  would  be  no  easy 
matter  to  describe  the  expression  of  her  features  at  that  moment 
She  uttered  not  a  syllable.  Amazement,  that  her  own  brandy-bot 
tle  should  have  gotten  into  my  possession,  and  be  thus  suddenly  pro 
duced  to  testify  against  her,  mingled  with  an  almost  idiotic  smile  or 
rather  grin  of  half-drunken  shame.  —  "I  will  not  inquire,"  contin 
ued  I,  addressing  this  unhappy  creature,  "  if  this  bottle  of  brandy  13 
yours,  for  you  have  asserted  that  there  was  none  nearer  than  the 
tavern.  Is  it  yours,  sir  ?"  addressing  the  young  man  who  sat  before 
me.  —  "  No,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  never  saw  it  till  you  took  it  from  the 
floor."  — I  repeated  the  inquiry  to  the  two  gentlemen  on  my  left, 
and  received  a  similar  reply. — "Is  it  yours,  sir?"  said  I  to  the 
Dutchman.  —  "  No,  mynheer,  I  never  trink  em  more  nor  tirty-foor 
year."  —  I  inquired  of  the  young  lady  in  black,  who  replied  by  a 
faint  smile  and  a  slight  movement  of  the  head.  — No  one  remained 
but  the  Irish  woman  ;  —  "Is  it  yours?"  said  I.  —  "  Indaad,  and  it 
is  not,  your  honor,"  said  she  ;  "  it 's  not  myself  that  wud  be  after 
taking  the  crathur  along  wid  me  that  a  way,  ye  may  be  sure ;  and 
enough  o'  the  misery  o'  thrinking  that  same  's  happunt  to  me  and 
mine  afore  now,  ye  may  depind."  —  "Look  here,  mister,"  cried 
the  Tuscan,  resuming  the  offensive,  and  turning  upon  me,  "isn't 
that  bottle  yours?''  —  After  the  laugh  had  subsided,  which  this 
sally  produced,  — "  No,"  said  I,  "  it  is  not,  and  if  it  were,  I  should 
be  one  of  the  most  inconsistent  creatures  in  existence ;  for,  last  night, 
I  lectured  upon  temperance ;  and  propose  to  do  the  same  thing  to 
night  ;  but  let  us  see  if  the  driver  can  give  us  any  explanation  of 
this  mystery.  Driver,"  continued  I,  putting  forth  my  head,  and 
addressing  an  uncommonly  fine-looking  young  man,  who  was  driv 
ing  six  in  hand,  "  we  have  found  a  bottle  of  brandy  on  the  floor  of 
your  coach ;  does  it  belong  to  you  ?"  —  "  Me,  sir  !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  desperate  stuff  as  that;  but  I  '11 
take  charge  of  it,  sir."  —  I  handed  him  the  bottle  ;  and,  in  an  instant 
after,  a  crash,  as  it  struck  against  the  stone  wall  at  the  road-side, 
announced  its  fate.  —  "  You  've  broke  my  bottle!"  exclaimed  the 
Tuscan,  as  she  half  rose  from  her  seat.  — "  Dat  ish  droll  enough," 
said  the  Dutchman ;  "  it  ish  like  de  judgment  of  Solomon's ; 
nopody  could  foind  vich  was  de  true  moder,  till  de  leetil  chilt  was  to 
be  cut  up."  —  The  coach  now  stopped  at  the  inn  ;  and  this  unhappy 
young  woman,  after  alighting,  was  scarcely  able  to  reach  the  door 
without  assistance. 

After  we  were  seated  at  the  breakfast  table,  some  one  inquired  of 
*.he  girl  in  attendance,  if  the  young  woman,  who  was  of  our  com 
pany,  knew  that  breakfast  was  ready.  "  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply; 

VOL.  II*  7 


74  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

"  but  she  says  she  is  not  very  well,  and  has  taken  a  cracker  and  t 
glass  of  brandy  and  water  by  herself."  —  As  we  sat  at  breakfast, 
the  case  of  this  young  offender  was  our  only  topic  ;  and,  just  before 
we  rose  from  table,  the  girl  who  waited,  and  who  had  evidently 
taken  a  very  natural  interest  in  our  conversation,  remarked,  that  this 
young  woman  had  requested  the  bar-keeper  to  let  her  have  another 
bottle  of  brand}  ;  and,  when  he  told  her  that  the  other  passengers 
would  be  displeased,  if  a  female  rode  in  the  coach  with  a  bottle  of 
brandy,  she  had  met  his  objection,  by  offering  to  ride  outside  with 
the  driver,  but  that  he  had  still  persisted  in  his  refusal. 

We  all  agreed,  that  the  history  of  this  unfortunate  being,  and  of 
the  origin  of  the  abominable  habit,  which  appeared  to  have  obtained 
entire  possession  of  her,  must  be  extremely  interesting  ,  and  the  task 
of  gathering  such  parts  of  it  from  her  own  mouth,  as  she  might  be 
induced,  by  kincfand  compassionate  inquiry,  to  reveal,  was  assigned 
to  me.  —  "  I  fear,  sir,"  said  the  elderly  gentleman,  "  you  will  find 
her  so  very  stupid  from  intoxication,  when  we  resume  our  seats  in 
the  carriage,  that  you  will  not  be  able  to  acquire  much  knowledge 
of  her  history."  —  "I  reckon  she  's  an  old  offender,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  You  probably  reckon  then  without  your  host,  my  young 
friend,"  remarked  the  elderly  gentleman  ;  "for  she  wears  not  the 
marks  and  numbers  of  one,  who  has  been  addicted  to  the  habit  for 
any  great  length  of  time."  —  "I  once  knew  a  case,"  said  the  gen 
tleman  in  black,  "  of  a  young  woman,  who  became  intemperate  from 
love."  —  "  Veil,  vary  veil,"  said  the  Dutchman,  "vat  ish  de  case 
here  but  love  of  de  prandy?"  — "  Perhaps,"  remarked  the  young 
lady  who  had  occupied  the  corner  in  front  of  me,  —  "  perhaps  she 
has  a  tyrant,  for  her  lord  and  master."  —  "  And  that  same  it  is,  to 
be  sure  ;  you  've  jist  got  a  teeste  o'  the  truth  o'  the  hull  mather,  ye 
maybe  sartain,"  cried  the  Irish  woman;  "there's  nathing  moor 
detistable  contagious  anonder  the  blissit  sun,  than  a  cantankerous, 
vile  felly  o'  a  husband,  what 's  a  thrinking  and  swearing,  and  moor 
fuller  o'  divilment  nor  a  bag  o'  fleas,  fro'  marning  to  night.  It 's 
jist  what  the  leddy  has  spukken  ;  it 's  a  tyrant  o'  a  lard  and  maaster 
what 's  driven  the  poor  sowl  to  her  present  perdition."  —  "  May  pe 
so,"  said  the  Dutchman,  "  but,  of  all  de  pig  tyrants  vat  I  ever  read 
apout,  de  piggest  tyrant  and  de  hardest  master  vas  von  Mynheer 
Prandy -pottle."  —  "Stage  is  ready,"  cried  the  driver,  and  we 
resumed  the  seats  which  we  had  occupied  before. 

It  has  been  affirmed,  of  persons  partially  inebriated,  —  rather,  per 
haps,  in  the  language  of  folly  than  of  philosophy,  — that  drinking 
more  deeply  will  sober  them  again.  I  by  no  means  assert,  that  any 
Bueh  cause  had  operated  upon  the  present  occasion ;  certain  it  is, 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  76 

however,  this  unfortunate  young  woman,  when  we  resumed  out 
journey,  had  undergone  a  remarkable  change  in  her  personal 
appearance.  She  had  lost  entirely  that  expression  of  defiance, 
which  she  had  exhibited  before  ;  she  was  silent,  and  apparently  sub 
dued.  It  was  very  evident  that  she  had  been  weeping.  But  what 
more  faithless  than  a  drunkard's  tears?  1  have  seen  them  flow  from 
the  eyes  of  an  intoxicated  man,  whose  tongue,  at  the  moment, 
stammered  forth  schemes  of  philanthropy,  which  failed  not  to  evap 
orate  with  the  fumes  of  the  liquor  he  had  drunken.  I  have  heard 
of  a  wretched  individual,  who,  during  a  period  of  religious  excite 
ment,  had  impressed  his  fond,  credulous  wife,  and  was  probably 
himself  impressed,  with  a  belief,  that  he  had  reason  to  rejoice  in  the 
hope  set  before  him  ;  but,  after  a  profluvium  of  tears  and  prayers, 
confessed  to  his  inquiring  partner  in  the  morning,  that  he  feared  "  it 
was  nothing  but  the  rum." — The  apparent  humiliation  and  penitence 
of  this  poor  woman,  seemed  to  excite  the  sympathy  of  every  passen 
ger,  excepting  those  of  her  own  sex.  The  Irish  lady,  in  particular, 
turned  her  back  towards  her,  as  far  as  her  relative  position  permit 
ted,  and  appeared  determined  to  give  her,  in  the  Scottish  phrase, 
the  "  cauld  showther."  This  conduct,  in  females,  towards  offend 
ers  of  their  own  sex,  is  very  common,  and  arises  less  from  the 
absence  of  humanity  than  the  presence  of  pride.  The  elderly  gen 
tleman,  as  far  as  I  could  judge  from  the  contemplation  of  his  fea 
tures,  appeared  to  regret  that  he  had  contributed  to  place  her  in  her 
present  predicament.  The  Dutchman's  features  had  again  become 
buckled  up  into  that  expression  of  severity,  which  they  bore  at  an 
earlier  period ;  and  our  other  fellow-travellers  were  evidently  sol 
emnized. 

It  was  not  the  easiest  task  in  the  world,  to  decide  upon  the  most 
appropriate  mode  of  executing  my  commission.  I  finally,  how 
ever,  decided  upon  that,  which  was  simple  and  direct.  —  "Young 
woman,"  said  I,  with  a  tone  and  expression  of  kindness,  "your 
fellow-travellers  profess  to  be  friends  of  the  temperance  cause. 
We  have  been  sincerely  grieved  on  your  account ;  and,  as  it  is  now 
clear  beyond  a  doubt,  that  you  have  made  a  free  use  of  brandy,  since 
you  have  been  our  companion,  we  are  desirous,  if  you  have  no 
objection,  to  know  something  of  the  origin  of  this  habit.''  She 
raised  her  eyes  with  a  look  of  distrust ;  but  the  cordial  compassion  1 
felt  for  her,  and  which  was  doubtless  indicated  by  the  expression 
upon  my  features  at  the  moment,  served,  in  some  measure,  to  dissi 
pate  that  feeling.  "  It  is  a  source  of  happiness  to  me,"  I  continued, 
"  to  collect  a  variety  of  interesting  facts  upon  the  subject  of  iniem- 
peraace,  ami,  without  any  reference  to  particular  persons,  to  present 


76  THB  STAGE-COAufl. 

these  facts  before  the  world,  for  the  benefit  of  ray  fellow-creatures 
I  believe  the  history  of  your  case  must  be  an  interesting  one,  and  if 
it  should  not  pain  your  leelings  too  severely,  I  think  you  would  be 
willing  to  set  up  your  own  example  as  a  beacon  for  others.  I  can 
not  believe,  from  all  I  see,  that  you  have  been  very  long  addicted  to 
this  habit."  —  "  I  never  drank  any  spirit,"  she  replied,  "  till  about 
three  years  ago,  just  after  my  youngest  child  was  born."  She 
uttered  this  reply  in  a  suppressed  tone  of  voice,  and  with  evident 
emotion.  —  "  You  have  been  married,  then .- "  said  I.  —  "  Yes,  sir," 
she  replied,  "  I  was  married  eight  years  since."  —  "  Is  your  hus 
band  living?"  I  inquired.  —  "  I  suppose  he  is  ;  —  I  have  not  seen 
him  for  more  than  two  years."  —  "  Does  he  not  reside  at  home  ?" 
said  I.  —  "  No,  sir,"  she  answered,  "  he  left  me  about  two  years 
ago."  —  "Does  he  follow  the  seas?"  —  "He  has  of  late  years," 
said  she.  —  "Two  years,"  I  continued,  "  is  a  long  time; — and 
when  do  you  expect  his  return?"  —  "I  don't  know  that  he  ever 
will  come  back,"  said  she.  —  At  this  moment,  the  old  Dutchman 
shook  his  head ;  and,  when  I  turned  my  eyes  upon  the  young 
woman  again,  she  had  bowed  down  her  face.  Her  bonnet  concealed 
her  features,  but  the  tears  were  falling  upon  her  cloak. 

After  a  brief  interval,  I  resumed  the  conversation.  "  I  am  fear 
ful,"  said  I,  "  that  you  have  a  bad,  perhaps,  an  intemperate,  hus 
band."  —  My  remark  seemed  to  summon  her  to  the  rescue.  What 
ever  may  be  the  nature  of  domestic  strife,  foreign  interference  is 
rarely  welcomed,  by  either  party.  —  "  No,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  I  had 
as  good  a  husband  as  ever  lived,  and  there  never  was  a  more 
temperate  man.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Temperance  Society. 
My  husband  was  a  carpenter,  and  worked  as  hard  as  any  man, 
but  he  never  took  strong  drink  of  any  kind ;  and,  if  I  could  only 
say  the  same  thing  of  myself,  we  never  should  have  parted." — • 
"  How  did  you  first  contract  this  habit?"  said  I.  — "After  my  last 
child  was  born,"  she  replied,  "I  had  a  severe  fever,  and  was 
brought  very  low.  It  seemed  as  though  I  never  should  recover  my 
strength.  Our  doctor,  who  was  a  skilful  old  gentleman,  said  noth 
ing  would  raise  me  so  soon  as  a  little  brandy.  My  husband  asked 
him  if  nothing  else  would  answer  as  well,  and  was  much  opposed 
to  my  taking  it.  But  the  doctor  insisted  upon  it.  It  was  not  pleas 
ant  at  first,  but  I  soon  began  to  relish  it  with  sugar ;  and,  after  a 
month's  trial,  I  got  myself  into  such  a  state,  that  I  thought  I  could  n't 
live  without  it.  My  husband  was  greatly  distressed  about  it,  and 
said  he  would  not  have  it  in  the  house.  I  then  got  it  privately,  and 
the  habit  was  so  strong  upon  me,  that  I  used  to  lie  awake  very  often, 
thinking  how  good  it  would  taste  in  the  morning.  I  have  often 
•aid,  and  I  say  BO  now,  that  I  would  give  the  wtirH,  if  it  wfcrte  mine, 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  T7 

to  be  cured  of  this  hankering  after  strong  drink.  At  last,  my  poor 
children"  —  "Poor  leetil  childher!" — cried  the  Dutchman,  as  he 
brushed  away  the  tear  from  his  eye  — "  My  poor  children,"  con 
tinued  the  woman,  "  began  to  suffer,  and  my  husband  became  des 
perate.  At  one  time,  he  would  try  to  coax  me  to  leave  it  off;  and, 
after  I  had  kept  myself  clear  of  it  for  a  week  or  so,  he  would  make 
me  a  present,  though  he  could  poorly  afford  it.  At  another  time, 
when  I  could  hold  out  no  longer,  and  he  returned  and  found  nothing 
ready  for  dinner  or  supper,  and  the  children  crying,  and  his  wife 
unfitted  for  everything,  he  would  talk  very  harshly,  and  threaten  to 
leave  me.  I  deserved  it  all,"  saiO  she,  weeping  bitterly,  "  and  I  've 
thought,  if  he  should  come  back,  I  would  try  to  do  better,  and  leave 
it  off,  though  I  'm  afraid  I  should  n't  be  able  to.  I  never  thought  he  'd 
really  go  away.  He  seemed,  at  last,  to  be  giving"  the  matter  up. 
He  let  me  go  on,  pretty  much  as  I  pleased.  He  used  to  take  the 
two  elder  children,  upon  a  Sunday,  to  meeting,  and  leave  me  at 
home,  for  I  was  ashamed  to  go  there,  as  folks  had  begun  to  take  no 
notice  of  me.  A  few  days  before  he  went  off,  he  said  very  little  to 
me,  but  seemed  to  be  busy,  packing  his  chest.  I  thought  all  this 
was  done  to  scare  me  ;  so  I  took  no  notice  of  it.  He  finally  put  his 
chest  upon  a  wheelbarrow,  and  wheeled  it  away.  '  Good-by,  John,' 
said  I,  for  I  thought  he  wasn't  in  earnest;  and  I  was  sure  he 
was  n't,  when  I  saw  him  coming  back,  in  about  an  hour,  without  it. 
I  told  him  he  'd  "made  a  short  voyage  of  it.  He  said  nothing  —  not 
a  word  —  but  took  the  children  on  his  lap,  and  kissed  them,  and 
cried  over  them  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  His  silence,  and  his 
taking  on  so,  worried  me  more  than  all  his  threats.  Next  morning, 
he  asked  me  to  take  the  three  children,  and  go  with  him  to  see  his 
mother,  who  lived  about  a  mile  off.  So  I  got  ready.  We  had  an 
old  dog  that  watched  round  the  house.  My  husband  patted  the 
dog.  '  Good-by,  Caesar,'  said  he,  and  he  sobbed  out  loud  as  he 
said  it.  I  then  began  to  fear  he  was  really  going;  and,  as  1 
thought  how  kindly  he  had  always  used  me,  and  what  a  mis 
erable  wife^I  had  been  to  him,  1  couldn't  help  shedding  tears. 
But  I  said  nothing,  for  I  still  thought  he  only  wanted  to  try  me. 
When  we  got  to  his  mother's,  I  saw  his  chest  outside  the  gate. 
We  went  in,  and  the  old  lady  began  to  shed  tears,  but  said  not  a 
woid.  I  then  thought  he  meant  to  leave  me.  He  looked  at  the  clock, 
and  said  it  was  about  time  for  the  stage  to  come  ;  and,  turning  to 
me,  he  took  my  hand,  but  it  was  some  time  before  he  could  speak. 
At  last,  he  mastered  his  feelings.  '  Fanny  !'  said  he,  '  there  's  but 
one  way  to  convince  you,  that  I  'm  in  earnest,  and  that  is  to  leave 
you.  I  took  yoi  for  better  or  worse,  but  I  didn't  take  you  fot 

VOL.  II.  7* 


78  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

a  drunkard,  and  I  won't  live  with  you  as  such  You  have  often 
Baid  you  was  willing  to  part,  and  could  support  yourself,  if  1  wr*uld 
support  the  children,  and  you  have  agreed,  that  they  shou.d  live 
with  their  grandmother.  I  've  sold  my  tools  and  some  other  mat 
ters,  and  raised  a  hundred  dollars,  which  I  have  placed  in  her  care 
for  their  use ;  and,  if  God  spares  my  life,  they  shall  never  want. 
When  she  writes  me  word,  that  you  have  kept  clear  of  this  habit 
for  six  months,  I  will  gladly  come  back,  but  never  till  then.' 
While  he  was  speaking,  the  stage  arrived,  and  I  saw  them  lashing 
on  his  chest. — I  then  had-  no  longer  any  doubt.  He  kissed  the 
children  and  his  mother,  and  rushed  out  of  the  house.  I  followed 
him  to  the  door.  '  O,  dear  John,'  said  I,  '  don't  go,  don't  go, 
John  ;  do  try  me  once  more  ;'  but  he  never  looked  back  ;  and  the 
stage  was  soon  out  of  sight.  — '  He  is  a  cruel,  cold-hearted  man,' 
said  I,  as  I  sat  down  on  the  threshold  of  the  door.  —  *  Fanny,'  said 
his  mother,  as  she  sat  wiping  her  eyes,  '  will  you  abide  by  those 
words  at  the  judgment  day?'  —  'No,'  said  I,  after  a  short  pause, 
'  he  is.  the  kindest  and  best  of  husbands  and  fathers.'  — '  Then,  try,' 
said  she,  '  to  kill  that  sinful  habit,  and  win  back  ycur  happy  fire 
side.' —  'I  will  try,'  said  I;  and  I  have  tried,  but  how  poorly  I 
have  succeeded,  you  all  know  too  well." 

When  the  poor  creature  had  finished  her  narrative,  which  bore 
irresistible  marks  of  truth,  in  the  very  manner  of  its  delivery,  there 
was  not  an  unmoistened  eye  among  us  all.  The  elderly  gentleman 
gave  her  the  most  admirable  counsel.  The  old  Dutchman  turntd 
round  and  gazed  upon  her,  while  the  tears  trickled  down  his 
weather-beaten  features  :  "  Mine  Got,"  he  exclaimed,  taking  off  his 
hat  with  an  air  of  the  deepest  reverence,  while  he  spoke,  "  ven  vill 
dere  pe  an  end  of  dish  accursed  trade  !  Ven  vill  a  pody  leave  off 
selling  de  fires  of  hell  to  hish  neighbor  in  exchange  for  de  poor 
leetil  childher's  pread  !" 

I  learned  from  this  woman,  that,  after  her  husband's  departure, 
she  had  obtained  employment  in  a  manufactory  in  the  town  of 

.  Upon  my  return,  I  had  occasion  to  stop  there;  and, 

having  ascertained  her  name  from  the  way-bill,  I  discovered  that  a 
female,  bearing  the  same  name,  had  been  discharged,  a  short  time 
before,  for  intemperance.  In  the  course  of  some  remarks,  which  I 
made  upon  this  occasion,  I  alluded  to  the  traffic  as  a  heart-sickening 
employment.  The  young  man  who  sat  immediately  before  me, 
admitted  that  it  was  such,  and  stated  that  he  had  tended  a  country 
dram-shop  for  several  years.  He  was  a  shrewd  young  man.  but 
wholly  uneducated.  We  requested  him  to  give  us  some  account 
of  his  experience  in  the  rum-selling  line,  which  he  did  substantially 
u  follows. 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  79 


PART    SECOND. 

"  I  was  rising  twelve,  when  I  went  to  tend  for  my  uncle,  'Zekiel 
Snooks.  I  kept  with  him  nine  years,  till  I  was  twenty-one,  lacking 
a  few  days.  Mother  did  n't  altogether  like  the  business  ;  but  father 
had  got  down  to  heel,  and  they  thought  't  was  a  good  chance  for 
me  to  get  along  in  the  world.  Uncle  Snooks,  when  I  first  went, 
kept  a  pretty  considerable  smart  sort  of  a  concern,  I  tell  ye.  There 
was  a'most  everything  there  that  country  folks  wants,  from  a  plough 
share  clean  down  to  a  silk  glove.  But  that  did  n't  last  a  great 
while.  Arter  a  spell,  he  gin  up  the  biggest  part  o'  sich  goods  as 
was  not  a  great  deal  called  for,  and  stuck  to  the  main  chance.  No 
man  knew  which  side  his  bread  was  buttered  on  better  than  uncfe 
'Zekiel.  He  was  up  early  and  late,  looking  arter  things  ;  he  never 
lost  a  minute.  I  never  knew  him  speak  my  whole  name  since  I  was 
born .  He  used  to  say  he  could  n't  spare  time  for 't.  *  'Kiah,'  he  used 
to  say,  when  he  had  a  little  leisure  of  a  Sunday  night,  arter  prayers, 
— '  'Kiah,  my  lad,  you  must  keep  the  run  o'  matters.  I  've  lost  a 
mint  o'  money,  stocking  my  store  with  a  pack  o'  trash  that  rusts, 
or  rots,  or  goes  out  o'  fashion  afore  it  '11  sell.  When  folks  gets  a 
leetle  down,  the  farmers  scratch  up  their  ground  as  well  as  they 
can,  and  the  mechanics  tinker  along  with  their  old  tools  ;  and  their 
wives  patch  up  their  old  gowns  and  petticoats,  and  wear  their  old 
bonnets,  and  coax  the  holes  in  their  stockings  clean  out  o'  sight. 
The  squire,  maybe,  turns  his  old  coat  two  or  three  times,  afore  he  '11 
come  to  my  shop  to  buy  cloth  for  a  new  one ;  and  the  doctor  runs 
down  sugar,  and  tea,  and  coffee,  jest  because  he  can't  afford  'em. 
Bat  there  's  one  thing,  'Kiah,  that  never  goes  out  o'  fashion,  and 
that 's  the  good  stuff ;  and  there  's  nothing  that  brings  in  a  profit 
like  that.  New  England  is  the  great  stand-by,  my  boy,  and  I  mean 
to  look  to  that,  as  the  main  chance.'  —  Uncle  'Ztkiel  was  a  pretty 
good  sort  of  a  man  for  them  days.  There  was  no  temperance 
societies  then,  as  I  know'd  on.  That  was  about  fifteen  years  ago. 
I  am  now  about  twenty-seven. 

"  Uncle  Snooks,  jest  about  a  year  arter  I  went  to  tend  his  shop, 
did  give  up  selling  a  great  sight  o'  things,  that  he  used  to  have,  and 
got  to  sell  a  great  deal  more  liquor.  He  sold  a  monstrous  sight  on 
it,  for  a'most  everybody  took  more  or  less,  in  them  times.  He 
made  a  great  profit,  as  I  thought ;  but,  somehow  or  other,  he  grew 
rather  poorer  every  year.  Our  rum  cost  about  twenty  cents  a  gallon, 
afore  it  was  rectified." 

"Vat  ish  dat  —  vat  you  mean  py  rectified  ?"  inquired  the  old 
Dutchman. 


80  THE  STAGE-COACH 

"  Why,  uncle  'Zeik  used  to  rectify  all  the  rum  he  bought,  \>y 
adding  about  a  quarter  part  of  fresh  spring  water,  and  then  we 
retailed  it  at  six  cents  a  glass,  —  a  pretty  slick  profit,  any  how. 
There  was  nowhere  else  to  go  in  our  town ;  so  it  all  went  off  well 
enough,  —  nobody  grumbled.  Uncle  got  cotched  once,  though, 
confoundedly.  'Bijah  Cody  cotched  him.  We  got  a  fresh  hogs 
head  one  Saturday ;  and,  arter  we  'd  shot  up  shop,  uncle  Snooks 
and  I  staid  to  rectify  it.  I  never  could  tell  jest  how  it  happened, 
but  'Bijah  had  got  asleep  on  a  bag  of  meal  that  was  on  the  floor 
behind  the  settle,  and  we  didn't  see  him  when  we  locked  ourselves 
in.  The  noise  we  made  a  shotting  up  waked  him,  I  guess,  and  he 
seed  the  whole  proceedings.  We  drawed  off  about  sixteen  gallons 
into  an  empty  berril,  and  then  began  to  rectify  what  remained  in  the 
hogshead.  We  had  n't  poured  in  more  than  four  or  five  gallons  of 
the  spring  water,  afore  'Bijah  set  up  a  haw,  haw ;  —  'Holloa!' 
says  he,  '  let 's  have  a  thimble-full  afore,  you  make  it  any  stronger.' 
—  Uncle  'Zeik,  ye  see,  was  a  member  of  the  church,  and  he  felt 
proper  bad,  I  know.  The  drops  o'  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead  like 
rain-drops  on  a  cabbage-leaf,  arter  a  shower.  —  'You  won't  make 
no  noise  about  it,  'Bijah,  will  ye?'  said  he.  —  'Haw,  haw,  haw, 
haw,  haw,'  said  'Bijah. — That  was  all  uncle  'Zeik  could  get  out 
of  him,  till  he  told  him  he  should  have  as  much  as  he  wanted, 
whenever  he  called.  He  lived  four  years  arter  that ;  and  every  day, 
foul  or  fair,  he  worked  upon  our  dimijohns  and  berrils  like  a  suction 
hose.  Uncle  had  to  pay  the  tribute.  'Bijah  was  confounded  impu 
dent,  to  boot.  He  'd  bring  in  three  or  four  at  a  time  ;  and,  arter 
treating  *em  all  to  as  much  liquor  as  they  'd  drink,  he  'd  turn  round 
to  uncle  Snooks  and  tell  him  to  charge  it  to  his  petiklar  account, 
rolling  his  eyes,  and  running  his  red  rag  into  the  side  of  his  cheek 
in  such  an  oddfangled  way  as  made  uncle  'Zeik  hang  his  head  and 
look  as  mean  and  small  as  a  weasel.  I  used  to  think,  that  I  would  n't 
feel  as  he  did  then,  for  the  vally  of  all  the  rum  in  the  universe.  But 
this  was  only  a  small  touch  of  the  troubles  that  uncle  'Zeik  suffered 
in  the  rum  business.  —  Many  a  one,  that  burnt  himself  up  with  rum 
afore  he  died,  got  his  first  glass  in  that  shop ;  and  there  many  a 
poor  fellow  drank  his  last.  We  used  to  have  raal  high  times  there 
now  and  then.  Two  thirds  of  all  the  quarrels  and  fights,  and  a'most 
all  the  lawsuits,  in  our  town,  I  guess,  begun  in  uncle  'Zeik's  shop. 

"  There  was  no  talk  about  temperance  societies,  in  our  town,  at 
that  time,  as  I  tell'd  ye.  So  long  as  a  body  could  pay  for  his  liquor, 
nobody  else  meddled  with  him  or  his  concerns.  Now  and  then, 
when  the  neighbors  thought  any  one  drinkt  more  than  was  good  for 
iilm,  and  lickt  his  wife  too  much,  they  used  to  talk  of  having  on  him 


THE  STAGE-COACH. 


81 


posted.  But  uncle  'Zeik  was  one  of  the  slickmen,  and  took  his  part 
at  the  board  so  long  as  he  had  any  property,  and  always  got  him 
clear.  Sometimes,  a  poor  fellow  would  be  hauled  up  afore  the 
church,  for  being  drunk  every  day  in  the  week.  But  uncle  'Zeik, 
who,  as  I  tell'd  ye,  was  a  church-member,  and  kept  the  run  of 
everybody's  drinking  in  the  parish,  used  to  make  it  out  that  he 
wasn't  drunk  half  so  often  as  every  day  in  the  week,  by  a  great 
sight ;  and  then  he  'd  look  round  among  the  church-members  pres 
ent,  as  sharp  as  an  old  hen-hawk,  and  say,  '  Let  him  who  is  entirely 
without  sin  in  this  respect,  cast  the  first  s'one  at  him.'  Then  theie 
used  to  be  sich  a  spell  of  sneezing,  and  coughing,  and  snickering  ; 
and  so  the  matter  dropped.  Church-members  then,  and  ministers 
too,  in  them  days,  used  to  make  nothing  of  taking  a  comforting 
glass.  Our  minister,  Parson  Cogle,  seldom  stopped  in  at  uncle 
'Zeik's  shop  without  tasting  a  little  Cogniac,  and  nobody  thought 
the  worse  on  him  for  that.  —  'How,'  said  he,  one  day,  to  uncle 
'Zeik,  *  how  do  you  construe  the  law  which  forbids  you  to  permit 
persons  to  drink  to  excess  in  your  store,  Mr.  Snooks?'  — '  I  'm  raal 
glad  to  hear  you  propound  that  are  point,'  said  uncle  'Zeik  ;  '  there  's 
nothing,  to  my  notion,  half  so  difficult  in  all  Hebrews.  There  isn't 
more  differ  among  cattle  in  their  power  to  take  off  their  load,  than 
there  is  in  the  power  of  men  to  take  off  their  liquor.  There  's  Far 
mer  Ridgerow,  —  half  a  mug  of  toddy  knocks  him  right  up,  so  that 
he  would  n't  know  a  harrow  from  a  hog's-troth.  Then  agin,  there  's 
Squire  Pauncher,  —  he's  told  me,  many  a  day,  when  I've  ax'd 
him,  jist  in  a  dilicate  way,  as  I  've  been  a  handing  him  the  fourth  or 
fifth  mug,  if  he  wasn't  afeard  'twould  set  a  leetle  heavy  on  his 
vitals,  — he  's  told  me  'pon  his  honor,  that  he  didn't  feel  that  he 
got  the  good  of  the  liquor  at  all,  till  he  felt  it  somehow  reach  the 
right  spot.  The  squire  's  a  man  of  sense,  and  you  may  rely  on  't, 
parson,  it 's  one  of  the  most  difficult  things  in  natur,  to  say  when  a 
body  's  drinking  to  excess.  The  Ginral  Court  had  ought  to  make 
this  matter  more  plainer.  One  thing's  sartain, — when  a  body 's 
drinkt  out  his  money,  here  's  a  clear  case  of  excess  ;  and,  arter  a 
good  deal  of  thought,  I  've  made  up  my  mind  that  this  was  the  gini- 
vine  meaning  of  the  legislatur.' 

'•  My  mother  used  to  say  very  often,  long  afore  temperance  socie 
ties  came  into  vogue,  that  selling  liquor  was  an  ugly  business :  and 
she  tried  hard  to  get  father's  consent  to  my  leaving  uncle  'Zoik , 
but  he  wouldn't  agree  to 't.  She  had  the  right  on 't.  'T  was 
pretty  tough,  for  a  young  man,  who  got  nothing  but  an  insight  into 
the  tricks  of  a  trade  that  he  didn't  relish,  to  look  on  and  see  how  it 
worked.  A  monstrous  number  of  likely  young  men,  and  a  good 


82  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

many  young  women  too,  was  used  up  in  uncle  'Zeik's  shop,  while  1 
was  'printice.  The  first  liquor  they  took,  as  like  as  not,  was  all  in 
an  accidental  sort  of  a  way.  Uncle  could  n't  make  change  into  a 
few  cents,  and  so  he  'd  say,  *  Well,  it  is  n't  exactly  the  price  of  a 
glass,  but  I  won't  stand  with  a  good  customer ;'  and  while  he  was 
a  saying  so,  he  'd  fill  a  glass  and  reach  it  out,  and  afore  a  body  could 
think  whether  he  wanted  it  or  not,  down  it  went,  and  so  the  ice  was 
broken.  'T  was  raal  melancholy  to  see  the  beginning  and  end  of 
some  on  'em,  from  the  time  they  laid  down  the  dollar  for  six  cents 
worth  of  rum  and  the  rest  in  tea  and  sugar,  to  the  time  when  they 
laid  down  a  pistareen  for  three  cents  worth  of  tea  and  the  rest  in 
rum.  I  've  sometimes  felt  a  kind  of  guilty  myself,  when  I  've  passed 
a  castaway,  working  among  the  town's  poor,  on  the  public  road, 
with  his  bloated  face  and  ragged  clothes  ;  and  remembered  that  I 
handed  him  his  first  glass  in  uncle  'Zeik's  shop,  when  he  was  an 
industrious  and  happy  young  man. 

"  Uncle  Snooks  had  a  pretty  hard  time  on  it  sometimes,  when  the 
women  folks  used  to  come  and  plague  him,  about  not  selling  any 
more  to  their  husbands.  There  was  one  Barny  Belcher,  who  drinkt 
up  his  farm.  They  used  to  say  his  old  cow  choked  him,  because 
he  sold  her  last  of  all  his  stock,  and  died  in  a  fit,  while  he  was 
drinking  the  very  first  dram,  that  he  bought  with  the  money  he  got 
for  her.  Barny 's  wife  tormented  uncle  'Zeik  from  morning  to 
night ;  and  her  persecution,  together  with  the  loss  of  his  property, 
as  I  always  thought,  drove  him  out  of  his  business  and  shortened 
his  days.  She  was  a  proper  firebrand,  though  she  never  took  any 
spirit  herself.  There  wasn't  a  happier  couple,  in  our  parish,  when 
they  were  first  married  ;  and  they  had  a  family  of  four  little  children, 
that  everybody  used  to  notice,  for  their  neat  appearance.  I  've  seen 
'em  many  a  time,  of  a  Sunday,  going  to  meeting,  hand  in  hand,  and 
all  four  abreast,  along  with  their  father  and  mother.  Barny  was  a 
very  thrifty  farmer,  and  I  never  thought  he  was  the  man  to  die  a 
drunkard.  It  used  to  be  said,  that  there  had  n't  been  a  likelier  couple 
married  in  the  parish,  for  many  years  ;  for,  though  they  had  almost 
nothing  to  start  with,  yet  they  were,  both  on  'em,  amazing  hand 
some  to  look  at ;  they  were  as  smart  as  a  couple  of  steel  traps,  and 
very  industrious  into  the  bargain.  They  did  surprising  well  for 
several  years.  But  he  got  to  be  an  insign,  and  rum  and  rigimentals 
did  the  business  for  poor  Barny,  in  less  than  no  time.  —  When  h<» 
got  to  be  pretty  bad,  she  first  came  to  the  house,  and  then  to  the 
shop,  to  get  uncle  'Zeik  not  to  let  him  have  any  more  liquor.  The) 
had  a  good  many  talks  about  it,  but  uncle  'Zeik  would  have  his 
way.  At  last  she  consulted  a  lawyer,  and  came  over  to  the  shop, 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  83 

and  gave  uncle  'Zeik  a  raal  dressing,  aibre  more  than  a  dozen  cus 
tomers. — '  Well,  Nelly  Belcher,'  said  ancle  'Zeik  when  she  came 
in,  resolved  to  be  beforehand  with  her,  '  what  do  you  want  to-day?' 
—  'Mercy,'  said  she, 'if  I  can't' have  justice.  You  know  well 
enough  what  I  want.  I  now  request  you  once  again,  to  sell  my 
husband  no  more  spirit.'  — '  And  how  can  I  help  it?'  said  uncle 
'Zeik,  somewhat  disturbed  by  her  resolute  manner.  — '  I  have  taken 
a  lawyer's  advice,'  said  she,  'and  you  have  no  right  to  sell  to  com 
mon  drunkards.'  —  'Do  you  say  that  your  husband  is  a  common 
drunkard  ?'  said  he.  — '  To  be  sure  I  do,'  she  replied.  — '  I  really  do 
not  think  your  husband  is  a  common  drunkard,  Nelly  Belcher,'  said 
uncle  'Zeik.  — '  Snooks,'  said  she,  clinching  her  fist,  'you  are  — 
what  you  are.  You  know  that  Barny  's  a  common  drunkard,  and 
you  made  him  so,  you  old — licensed,  rum-selling  church-member. 
— '  Go  out  of  my  shop,'  cried  uncle  'Zeik,  stepping  towards  her.  — 
'I  wouldn't  touch  the  poor  woman,  Mr.  Snooks,'  said  one  of  the 
company  ;  '  she 's  driven  on  by  the  state  of  her  husband  and  chil 
dren.' —  'Touch  the  poor  woman!'  cried  Nelly,  stretching  herself 
up,  —  and  she  was  the  tallest  woman  in  the  parish,  — '  let  him  lay 
the  weight  of  his  rummy  finger  upon  me  if  he  dares ;  and,  though 
I  'm  poor  enough  in  purse,  Heaven  knows,  I  '11  show  him  that  I  'va 
the  spirit  of  my  father,  who  thrashed  him,  when  he  was  eighteen, 
for  stealing  a  sheep-skin.  I  won't  go  out  of  his  shop,  nor  budge  an 
inch,  till  I've  said  my  say,  in  the  presence  of  ye  all.'  — '  Nelly 
Belcher,'  said  uncle  'Zeik,  'you'll  have  to  pay  for  this.'  —  'Pay 
for  it!'  cried  Nelly,  with  a  screaming  voice,  'and  haven't  you 
got  your  pay  already?  Haven't  you  got  the  homestead,  and 
the  stock,  and  the  furniture?  And  didn't  Barny  pawn  the  chil 
dren's  clothes  last  Friday,  and  bring  you  every  cenflhat  he  got  for 
'em?  You've  got  everything,  from  the  ridge-pole  down  ;  you've 
got  it  all  here,  among  your  wages  of  iniquity  ;'  and,  as  she  said 
this,  she  gave  a  blow,  with  her  fist,  upon  the  top  of  uncle  'Zeik's 
till,  that  made  the  coppers  pretty  lively,  I  tell  ye.  — '  Snooks,'  said 
she,  '  you  've  got  everything.  I  have  n't  a  pint  of  meal  nor  a  peck 
of  potatoes  for  my  children.  Stop. — I'm  mistaken  ;  there's  an 
old  rum-jug  in  the  house,  that 's  been  in  your  shop  often  enough  ; 
you  ought  to  have  that ;  and  there  's  a  ragged  straw-bed  ;  you  shall 
have  'em  both,  and  anything  else  you  '11  find,  if  you  won't  let  Barny 
have  any  more  rum.  — You  've  made  your  bargain,  Snooks,  your 
own  way ;  but  there  's  a  third  party  to  it,  and  that 's  the  devil. 
You  've  got  poor  Barny's  money  in  your  till,  and  the  devil  's  got 
your  soul  in  his  fire-proof,  and  he  '11  keep  it  there  safe  enough,  till 
the  day  of  judgment  ' 


84  THE  Sf  AGE-COACH. 

"  Uncle  'Zeik  offered  'Bijah  Cody  a  handsome  present,  if  he  'd 
turn  her  out  of  the  shop.  — '  I  'd  a  leetle  rather  not,  Mr.  Snooks,' 
answered  'Bijah,  with  a  look,  that  showed,  plainly  enough,  how 
much  he  enjoyed  uncle  'Zeik's  torment.  — *  Look  here,  Nelly  Bel 
cher,'  said  uncle  'Zeik,  —  and  he  was  getting  wrathy,  for  he  stamped 
his  foot  pretty  considerable  smart,  — '  the  second  Tuesday  of 
November  the  court  will  sit,  and  you  shall  answer  for  this.'  — 
*  What  caro  I  for  your  court?'  replied  she  ;  '  the  day  will  come,  and 
it  may  come  this  hour,  when  a  higher  court  will  sit ;  and  you  shall 
answer  for  more  than  all  this  a  thousand  fold.  Then,  you  cold- 
hearted  old  man,  I  will  lead  my  poor  ragged  children  before  the  bar 
of  a  righteous  God,  and  make  a  short  story  of  their  wrongs,  and  of 
that  poor  young  man's,  who  has  fallen  by  your  hands,  just  as  surely, 
as  though  you  had  killed  him  with  ratsbane.  There 's  not  one  of 
you  here,'  continued  Nelly,  '  that  doesn't  remember  me  and  Barny 
when  we  were  married.  You  was  at  our  wedding  'Bijah  Cody, 
and  so  was  you,  Lot  Mason.  Now  I  ask  you  if  you  ever  dreamt 
that  we  should  come  to  this  ?  Was  there  ever  a  little  farm  better 
managed?  And,  if  I  was  not  a  careful,  faithful,  industrious  wife 
to  Barny,  I  wish  you  to  say  the  very  worst  of  me  to  my  face.'  — 
1  Nobody  doubts  it,  Nelly,'  said  'Bijah.  — '  And  were  my  little  ones 
ill  treated?  Hadn't  they  whole  clothes  for  Sunday,  and  wasn't 
they  constant  at  meeting,  for  years,  till  this  curse  crept  in  upon 
us,  like  an  adder?  And,  till  then,  did  ye  ever  see  a  likelier  man 
than  Barny?  And,  as  for  his  kindness  to  me  and  the  children  till 
that  hour,  it 's  for  me  to  witness ;  and  I  say  it  before  ye  all,  that, 
before  he  tasted  this  old  man's  liquor,  there  never  was  a  hard 
thought  or  a  bitter  word  between  us.  He  was  the  boy  of  my  fool 
ish  love,  when  he  was  seventeen,  and  the  man  of  my  choice,  when 
he  was  three  and  twenty.  I  gave  him  an  honest  heart,  that  never 
loved  another,  and  the  trifle  of  worldly  goods,  that  my  old  mother 
left  me  ;  but  he  has  broken  the  one  and  squandered  the  :ther.  Last 
night,  as  I  lay  upon  my  straw-bed,  with  my  poor  children,  1  thought 
of  our  young  days,  and  our  little  projects  of  happiness ;  and,  as  I 
saw  poor  Barny,  in  my  fancy,  just  the  trim  lad  that  he  was,  with 
his  bright  eye  and  ruddy  cheek,  I  felt  my  eyes  filling  with  tears,  as 
they 're  filling  now.  I  hope  I  may  never  shed  another,'  said  she, 
dashing  them  off  with  the  back  of  her  hand,  and  resuming  her  look 
of  vengeance.  — '  I  'm  going  to  cross  your  threshold,  for  the  last 
time,  and  now  mark  me  well.  I  ask  you,  once  for  all,  to  sell  poor 
Barnv  no  more  liquor.  If  you  do,  I  will  curse  you  till  I  die,  as  the 
destroyer  of  my  husband;  and  I  will  teach  my  children  to  curse  you 
when  T  am  dead,  as  the  destroyer  of  their  father.' 


THE  SI  AGE-COACH.  86 

"  *  She  ought  to  be  shut  up  as  a  common  brawler,'  said  uncle 
'Zeik,  as  she  left  the  shop.  —  But  the  solemn  impression,  which 
poor  Nelly  had  made  upon  us  al\  prevented  us  from  saying  anything 
to  comfort  him.  —'You  said  you  didn't  think  Barny  Belcher  was 
a  common  drunkard,'  said  Lot  Mason.  —  *  No  more  I  don't,'  replied 
uncle  -Zeik, '  I  consider  him  a  very  uncommon  drunkard.'  —  *  That 's 
rather  too  cold  a  joke  for  my  stomach  just  now,'  said  'Bijah  Cody , 
and  he  walked  out  of  the  shop.  He,  and  Lot  Mason,  and  Barny, 
used  to  be  great  cronies,  formerly ;  and  Nelly's  talk  had  reminded 
him  of  it.  'Bijah's  eyes  were  pretty  red,  when  he  went  out,  and 
he  hadn't  been  drinking  neither.  He  never  came  into  the  shop 
after  that  day.-  Two  or  three  others,  that  were  there,  told  uncle 
'Zeik,  that  they  thought  he  was  wrong  to  sell  Barny  any  more ; 
and  the  old  man  came  home  quite  sober,  and  down  in  the  mouth. 
He  had  a  horrid  nightmare  that  night,  and  Miss  Snooks  said  she 
had  to  shake  him  a'most  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  afore  she  could  stop 
his  bawling  and  yelling.  He  would  n't  tell  his  dream  to  nobody  for 
some  time ;  but,  at  last,  he  got  superstitious,  and  kind  of  confessed 
it  to  Parson  Cogle,  who  told  it  about  the  parish,  in  confidence.  It 
seems  uncle  'Zeik  dreamt  he  was  chased  all  night  by  a  monstrous 
hogshead  of  rum,  that  he'd  rectified,  and  he  thought,  as  it  came 
rolling  down  hill  after  him,  that  it  would  crush  him  to  atoms  every 
minute. 

"  Uncle  Snooks  soon  forgot  his  dream,  and  began  to  sell  rum  to 
Barny  Belcher  as  before,  whenever  he  got  any  money.  It  was 
thought,  by  a  good  many,  that  Nelly  had  lost  her  reason,  or  very 
near  it,  about  that  time.  She  soon  found  out,  that  Barny  got  rum 
at  our  shop ;  and  sure  enough,  she  brought  her  four  little  children, 
and,  standing  close  to  the  shop  door,  she  cursed  uncle  'Zeik,  and 
made  them  do  so  too.  It  worried  him  properly.  Whenever  she 
met  him  in  the  road,  she  used  to  stop  short,  and  say  over  a  form 
that  she  had,  in  a  low  voice,  but  everybody  knew,  by  her  raising 
her  eyes  and  hands,  that  she  was  a  cursing  uncle  'Zeik.  Very  few 
t  lamed  her ;  her  case  was  a  very  hard  one  ;  and  most  folks  excused 
her  on  the  score  of  her  mind's  being  disordered  by  her  troubles. 
But  even  then,  she  made  her  children  obey  her,  whether  she  waa 
present  or  absent,  though  it  was  said  she  never  struck  'em  a  blow. 
Tt  almost  made  me  shudder  sometimes,  when  I  've  seen  these  chil 
dren  meet  uncle  'Zeik.  They  'd  get  out  of  his  way  as  far  as  they 
could  ;  and,  when  he  'd  gone  by,  they  'd  move  their  lips,  though  you 
could  n't  hear  a  word,  and  raise  up  their  eyes  and  hands,  just  aa 
their  mother  had  taught  'em.  When  I  thought  these  children  were 
calling  down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  upon  uncle  'Zeik,  for  having 

VOL.    II.  8 


86  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

made  them  fatherless,  it  fairly  made  my  blood  run  cold.  —  After 
the  death  of  her  husband,  she  became  very  melancholy,  and  a  great 
deal  more  so,  after  the  loss  of  her  two  younger  children.  She 
didn't  use  to  curse  uncle  'Zeik  after  that.  But  she  always  had  a 
talent  for  rhyming,  and  she  used  to  come  and  sit  upon  the  horse 
block  before  our  shop,  and  sing  a  sort  of  a  song,  that  was  meant  to 
worry  uncle  'Zeik,  and  it  did  worry  him  dreadfully,  'specially  the 
chorus.  Whenever  he  heard  that,  he  seemed  to  forget  what  he 
was  about,  and  everything  went  wrong.  'Twas  something  like 
this :  — 

1  He  dug  a  pit,  as  deep  as  hell, 

And  into  it  many  a  drunkard  fell ; 

He  dug  the  pit,  for  sordid  pelf, 

And  into  that  pit  he  '11  fall  himself.' 

One  time,  when  poor  Nelly  sung  the  chorus  pretty  loud,  and  the 
shop  was  rather  full,  uncle  'Zeik  was  so  confused,  that  he  poured 
half  a  pint  of  rum,  that  he  had  measured  out,  into  his  till,  and 
dropped  the  change  into  the  tin  pot,  and  handed  it  to  the  customer. 
"  I  raally  felt  for  him,  for,  about  this  time,  two  of  his  sons  gave 
him  a  sight  of  trouble.  They  used  to  get  drunk,  and  fight  like 
sarpents.  They  shut  the  old  gentleman  down  cellar  one  night,  and 
one  on  'em,  when  he  was  drunk,  slapped  his  father  in  the  face. 
They  did  nothing  but  run  him  into  debt ;  and,  at  last,  he  got  to 
taking  too  much  himself,  jest  to  drown  care.  Dr.  Tilton  said,  that 
old  Nelly  was  right,  and  that  uncle  Snooks  would  fall  into  his  own 
pit,  afore  he  died.  —  Mother,  at  last,  got  father's  consent,  that  I 
should  leave,  and  I  've  been  in  an  English  goods  store  ever  since 
Dr.  Tilton  often  said  I  had  a  wonderful  escape.  If  I  'd  had  as  much 
relish  for  liquor  as  most  folks,  I  s'pose  I  should  have  got  into  the 
pit  as  well  as  uncle  'Zeik."  — "  Ish  de  old  man  alive  now?" 
inquired  the  Dutchman.  —  "  Yes,  he  's  living,"  said  the  narrator. 
"  After  the  temperance  society  was  formed,  he  lost  his  license, 
and  got  to  be  starving  poor,  and  the  town  had  to  maintain  him. 
He  's  been  crazy  for  several  years.  I  went  to  see  him  last  winter 
with  father,  who  's  tried  to  get  him  into  the  state  hospital.  It  made 
me  feel  ugly  to  see  him.  He  didn't  know  me;  but  all  the  tune  I 
was  there,  he  kept  turning  his  thumb  and  finger  as  though  he  \\aa 
drawing  liquor,  or  scoring  it  down  with  a  bit  of  chalk  upon  the  wall. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  *d  forgot  all  his  customers  but  one  ;  for,  though 
the  wall  was  covered  with  charges  of  rum,  and  brandy,  and  gin,  and 
flip,  and  toddy  the  whole  was  set  down  agin  Barny  Belcher."  — 
"  Veil,"  said  the  Dutchman,  "jest  dat  vay  my  neighbor,  old  Pedei 
Pendergrash,  kick  de  bucket.  He  trade  in  dat  shtuff  more  noi 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  87 

twenty  year.  He  vas  vary  poor  at  de  last ;  he  vas  vary  drunk ;  and, 
afore  he  die,  he  vas  raven  all  de  time  about  viskey." 

"  It  is  greatly  to  be  deplored,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  who 
sat  next  me,  "  that  the  church  should  occasionally  be  made  to  suffer, 
through  the  misconduct  of  its  members."  —  "It  is  so,"  said  the 
elderly  gentleman,  "  yet  we  frequently  encounter  a  mawkish  sensi 
bility  upon  this  subject,  which  is  exceedingly  ridiculous.  If  free 
ships  make  free  goods,  it  by  no  means  follows,  that  church-mem 
bership,  or  the  pastoral  office,  forbids  the  right  of  search.  Yet  there 
are  certain  persons,  who  very  absurdly  strive  to  conceal  the  follies 
and  vices,  which  occasionally  mark  unworthy  members,  amid  the 
great  mass  of  excellence,  which  undeniably  characterizes  the  body. 
Professing  Christians,  and  particularly  ministers  of  the  gospel, 
should  utterly  reject  the  idea  of  casting  the  whole  amount  of 
Christian  graces  into  common  stock,  and  dividing  per  capita.  We 
are,  now  and  then,  compelled  to  make  the  painful  discovery,  not 
only  of  error,  but  of  gross  and  abominable  sin,  among  professing 
Christians ;  but  their  respectability,  as  a  body,  defies  the  malicious 
ingenuity  of  man.  There  is  not  a  legitimate  branch  of  that  tree, 
which  Christ  planted,  to  which  this  remark  is  inapplicable.  Upon 
the  body,  there  are,  undoubtedly,  excrescences,  unsightly  and  cor 
rupt,  and  their  existence  has  just  the  same  effect  in  lessening  the 
integrity  of  the  whole,  as  have  the  mountains  of  the  earth,  in  lessen 
ing  its  sphericality.  It  would  be  nothing  less  than  folly  and  mad 
ness,  in  one,  who  labored  under  a  cancer,  to  suffer  it  to  remain 
unextirpated,  lest  he  should  disclose  the  imperfection  of  a  certain 
portion  of  his  tabernacle.  None,  but  a  pompous  and  vain-glorious 
prelate,  will  expand  his  cassock,  and  display  the  apparatus  of  his 
order,  and  come  down  in  all  the  parade  of  canonicals  to  the  rescue, 
when  nothing  more  is  proposed  than  an  inquiry  into  individual 
character,  or  the  affixation  of  the  brand  of  public  scorn  upon  a 
convicted  hypocrite.  No,  sir,  purgation  is  a  salutary  process,  and 
I  am  never  weary  of  seeing  rum-selling  deacons,  church-wardens, 
church-members,  and  guzzling  clergymen  exposed  to  the  public 
gaze." — "  If  dere  ish  not  good  sense  in  vat  dish  old  gentleman  zay, 
I  don  know  vere  he  ish,"  said  the  Dutchman.  "I've  got  a  goot 
minishter  now  ;  he  trinks  de  colt  vater ;  he  needs  notting  shtronger. 
Ven  he  come  to  trinking  toddy,  den  I  vill  pe  my  own  minishter." 

"I  agree  with  you  entirely,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black. 
"There  is  an  undiscriminating  portion  of  the  community,  which  is 
liable  to  be  misled,  and  there  is  a  wicked  portion,  quite  willing  to 
mislead  them.  It  is  thus,  that  the  church  is  made  to  surfer  by  such 
exhibitions.  I  do  not  say,  that  she  loses,  in  one  way,  more  than  she 


88  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

gains,  in  another.  The  serious  contemplation  of  these  delinquen 
cies,  in  those,  whose  holy  office  seems  to  furnish  a  rampart  of  more 
than  ordinary  strength,  is  likely  to  increase  our  power  of  resistance, 
b)  teaching  us  a  solemnizing  lesson  of  human  frailty,  and  thus  lead 
ing  us  to  the  throne  of  grace  in  prayer  for  an  unearthly  support.  The 
subject  of  intemperance  is  certainly  one  of  the  highest  interest ;  and 
I  am  far  from  thinking,  that  our  day,  thus  far,  has  been  employed 
unprofitably . "  —  "  Jest  so  it  seem  to  me,"  said  the  Dutchman  ;  "  de 
shtory  of  i  poor  trunkard  isb  Uke  a  beacon  on  de  preakers,  if  a  pody 
vill  only  keep  a  goot  look-out.  I  followed  de  zea,  and  trinkt  prandy 
more  nor  tirty  year.  Tirty-foor  year  ago,  I  vowed  I  would  leave 
em  off,  if  Grod  should  shpare  my  life.  I  vas  on  a  wreck,  ven  I  made 
tle  vow."  —  "  You  have  lived  long,  and  probably  seen  much  of  the 
world/'  said  the  elderly  gentleman,  who,  like  myself,  had  conceived 
a  respect  for  the  Dutchman's  good  sense  and  good  feelings,  —  "  sup- 
poic  you  give  us  a  leaf  out  of  your  log-book,  sir."  — "  Vary  veil, 
mynheer,"  said  the  Dutchman. 


PART    THIRD. 

"  I  've  heer'd  mine  oold  fader  zay  dat  it  vas  thought,  dere  vas  n't 
an  honest  man  in  hish  day,  in  all  Holland,  vat  trinkt  coold  vater.  — 
Vansittart,  de  great  burgomaster,  clapt  apout  a  dozen  in  irons  vat 
he  found  trinking  coold  vater,  togedder ;  bekase  he  knowed  dey  vas 
a  plotting  mischief  agin  de  States  General.  —  My  fader  zay  de 
council  of  de  Lutheran  chuch  in  Leyden,  vere  he  vas  porn,  hauled 
dere  oold  minishter,  Van  Oort,  over  de  coals  for  giving  a  beggar 
coold  vater  mitout  any  prandy,  bekase,  de  council  zay,  he  vas  not 
.given  to  hospitality.  —  Oold  Van  Krutzen,  de  sexton  of  our  chuch, 
used  to  hire  me,  ven  I  vas  leetil  poy,,to  help  him  shcour  de  com 
munion  plate,  and  he  always  give  me  a  trink  of  de  wine  vat  vas 
left.  Dat  vas  de  vay  I  begins.  Poor  Van  Krutzen,  he  got  to  pe  a 
trunkard.  Von  toctor  zay  he  must  leave  off  prandy.  So  he  try  dat 
vay.  After  a  leetil  vile  he  thought  he  vas  a  dying  ;  so  he  send  for 
his  oold  toctor,  and  he  zay,  de  toder  toctor  vas  a  pig  quack,  and  told 
de  patient  to  trink  prandy  agin.  Van  Krutzen  lookt  up  and  shmile, 
and  ax  ie  toctor  how  much  he  should  take  dat  day.  '  Vor.  ounce,' 
zay  de  toctor.  So,  ven  he  vas  gone,  Van  Krutzen  zay  to  his  son, 
'  Herman,  get  de  measure  pook,  my  poy,  and  read  how  much  make 
von  ounce.'  So  Herman  gets  de  pook,  and  read,  'sixteen  drams 
makes  von  ounce.'  —  '  Dat  ish  de  toctor  for  me,'  cried  Van  Krut- 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  89 

Ben,  as  he  rubbed  his  hands ;  '  I  never  took  so  many  drams  peiore 
in  von  day.' 

"  Ven  I  vas  going  my  firsh  voyage,  as  c£pin-poy,  my  fader  pit 
me  in  de  shtage  to  go  to  de  seaport  apout  foorty  mile.  De  shtage 
vas  upset ;  von  man  preak  his  head,  anoder  his  leg,  and  De  Groot, 
de  triver,  vas  kilt  upon  de  shpot.  De  Groot  vas  trunk  ; — dat  vaa 
prandy.  —  Ven  I  got  to  de  seaport,  I  shtroll  apout  de  town  half  de 
night,  get  into  pad  company,  lose  de  leetil  monish  vat  my  oold 
moder  give  me,  and  vas  lock  up  in  de  vatch'ouse  ;  — dat  vas  prandy. 
—  De  ship  vas  vaiting  for  fair  vind  eight  day.  At  lasht  he  come, 
vest-nord-vest.  Den  de  captain  vas  not  to  pe  found  till  de  r«xt  day. 
Yen  dey  find  him,  he  vas  so  full  of  de  shtuff  he  could  n't  navigate 
de  ship  ;  —  dat  vas  prandy.  —  De  vary  firsh  night  after  ve  gets  to 
zea,  ve  runs  down  a  leetil  shcooner ;  shtruck  her  jest  apout  mid 
ships.  After  she  fell  off,  she  took  a  lee  lurch  to  port,  and  vent 
down  head  foremost.  Yen  I  hear  de  shock,  I  runs  upon  de  deck, 
and  jest  zee  her  go.  De  crew  cry  tor  us  to  shtop.  Ve  hove  de 
topsails  apack,  and  gets  out  de  poat,  but  ve  vas  running  eight  knot ; 
and,  afore  de  poat  could  pull  pack  to  de  place  vere  she  vent  down 
dey  vas  all  drown  but  von,  who  held  on  to  a  shpar ;  ve  save  him. 
Tirteen  lives  vas  lost,  he  zay.  It  vas  pright  moonlight  night,  but 
our  vatch  vas  trunk;  —  dat,  you  zee,  vas  prandy.  —  De  captain 
vas  trunk  all  de  time  ;  so  he  don  know  vat  he  zay.  He  cursh  and 
shwear  ten  knot  an  hour.  He  shcream  to  one  man  to  pull  de  fore- 
top  powline,  ven  he  mean,  like  enough,  de  main-sheet.  So  de  poor 
fellow  he  pull  de  fore-top  powline,  jest  vat  de  captain  zay.  Den  de 
captain  he  tie  him  up  to  de  rigging,  and  give  him  two  dozen  mit  de 
oold  cat,  bekase  he  don  pull  de  foresheet ;  —  dat  vas  prandy.  —  Von 
dark  night,  ven  ve  had  a  lee  shore,  de  man  at  de  helm,  —  he  vas 
goot  zeaman, — he  zay,  'Captain  Van  Brandt,  don  you  tink  ve 
petter  keep  her  a  leetle  nearer  de  vind,  and  hold  off  de  land  till  de 
day  preak?' — Den  Van  Brandt  he  cursh  and  shwear;  —  he  vas 
pretty  trunk  dat  night.  — '  Vat,  in  de  name  of  Tutch  tender,'  he 
zay,  as  he  shove  de  man  from  de  helm,  '  vat !  you  tell  me  how  de 
ooli  ship  shall  pe  shteer!  You're  a  lant-lupper,'  he  zay;  '  de 
cook  can  shteer  more  petter  dan  sich  a  greenhorn  as  you.'  So  he 
called  up  de  nigger  cook,  and  tell  him  how  to  shteer ;  and,  to  show  de 
oder  man  vat  a  fool  he  vas,  he  sail  de  ship  a  point  vreer  on  de  vind. 
Oato  vas  vary  proud  to  shteer  de  ship  ;  and  ven  de  captnin  turn  in, 
he  tink  he  shteer  petter,  if  de  compass  vould  not  shake  apqut  mit  de 
roll  of  de  ship  ;  so  he  open  de  pinnacle,  and  put  a  chip  under  de 
compass  to  keep  him  shteady,  jest  as  he  do  mit  his  shpider  in  de 
cabouse.  Apout  an  hour  after  Captain  Van  Brandt  turn  in,  dl 

VOL.    II.  8* 


00  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

cook  shteer  de  ship  right  on  de  preakers.  I  vas  knock  out  of  my 
berth.  De  zea  made  a  clean  breach  fore  and  aft.  It  vas  de  young 
flood  ;  dat  vas  goot  luck.  Ven  de  day  come,  ve  lighten  de  ship, 
and  get  out  an  anchor  ashtern,  and,  mit  de  full  zea,  ve  get  de  oold 
hulk  afloat.  De  vater-casks  vas  stave,  and  Cato  vas  gone.  He 
zay  he  know  Captain  Van  Brandt  vould  kill  him ;  so,  ven  de  ship 
shtruck,  he  jump  overpoard  ;  —  all  dish  vas  prandy.  —  Dish  vas  de 
lasht  trip  dat  ever  Van  Brandt  vent  to  zea.  He  die  apout  two  mons 
after  he  get  ashore  of  de  liver  complaint.  De  toctor  zay  dat  t  vas 
prandy.  He  vas  buried  de  same  day  mit  de  burgomaster's  lady, 
vat  die  of  de  same  dishtemper. 

"  I  have  seen  great  deal  of  trouble  in  dish  voorld,  and  prandy  vae 
at  de  pottom.  —  De  lasht  voyage  I  go  to  zea,  I  vas  de  shkipper 
myself.  I  trinkt  prandy  den  like  oder  volks.  De  mate,  Jahn 
Grontergotzler,  did  jest  so.  After  a  shquall  or  a  shpell  of  tough 
wedder,  ven  all  de  trouble  and  danger  vas  over,  ve  used  to  take  de 
shnaps  of  prandy  pretty  freely.  Von  or  de  toder,  me  or  Jahn 
Grontergotzler,  vas  commonly  a  leetil  trunk  in  pleasant  wedder. 
But  ve  took  turns,  so  dat  von  should  be  sober  to  take  care  of  de 
prig.  Von  time,  ve  had  a  terrible  shtorm,  in  de  Pay  of  Piscay  it 
vas.  It  hold  on  four  days;  den  dere  come  clear  wedder.  Ve 
thought  it  vas  all  over,  and,  vile  de  men  vas  repairing  de  damage  vat 
de  shtorm  did,  Grontergotzler  and  me  took  more  prandy  dan  vas  goot 
for  us.  Den  it  began  to  blow  agin,  and  de  shtorm  came  back  ten 
times  vorse  dan  pefore.  Grontergotzler  vas  an  oold  man.  Ven  he 
vas  sober,  dere  vas  no  petter  to  hand,  reef,  or  shteer,  dan  oold  Jahn ; 
but  ven  he  vas  trunk,  he  vas  goot  for  netting.  De  crew  vas  all 
young  men  ;  some  of  dem  vas  only  poys,  and  dey  had  all  been  trink- 
ing  a  leetil.  I  shtaggered  up  to  de  helm,  ven  I  saw  de  shquall 
coming,  to  help  de  man  dere  to  get  de  prig  before  de  vind  ;  but  I 
vas  too  late.  De  shquall  took  her  on  de  proadside,  and  trew  her  on 
her  peamends,  jest  as  a  shtrong  man  vould  trow  a  leetil  poy.  Five 
men  vat  vas  aloft,  mending  de  sails  and  rigging,  vas  thrown  into  de 
zea,  and  not  von  got  pack  to  de  prig.  Den  came  anoder  zea,  and 
trew  her  more  over  dan  pefore.  Ven  I  could  zee,  I  look  round  for 
de  living.  Trunk  as  he  vas,  Jahn  Grontergotzler  —  he  vas  vary 
shtrong  man — vas  holding  on  to  de  main  chains;  and  close  to  Jahn 
vas  Peder  Oortzen,  de  capin-poy.  De  shtorm  now  seem  to  be  con 
tent  mit  de  mischief  he  had  done,  and  dere  vas  no  more  shqualls. 
Every  great  wave  passed  over  us.  I  vas  in  de  fore-chains,  and  had 
lasht  myself  mit  a  rope ;  but  de  prandy  made  me  shtupid,  and  ] 
made  up  my  mind  dat  I  musht  go.  I  saw  dat  oold  Jahn  musht  go 
firsht,  for  he  vas  so  trunk,  dat  he  sometimes  held  by  von  hand.  I 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  91 

vas  not  so  trunk  myself,  as  not  to  feel  for  poor  Oortzen,  de  capin- 
poy ;  I  promished  his  moder  to  take  care  of  him.  I  called  to  him. 
and  told  him  to  keep  out  of  de  oold  mate's  reach,  for  he  vould  gc 
down  soon,  and  if  he  got  him  in  his  grip,  dere  vould  be  no  chance 
for  him.  — '  O,  Captain  Plombaak,'  cried  de  leetil  poy,  '  I  can't  hold 
much  longer.'  Jest  den,  Grontergotzler  let  go,  and,  in  his  shtruggle, 
clutched  Peder's  right  leg  rait  his  hand.  I  cried  to  de  poor  lad  to 
shake  de  oold  man  off;  but  he  could  not  get  rid  of  Jahn's  death- 
grapple  ;  no  more  could  he  support  de  weight  of  de  oold  man,  and 
his  own  peside ;  so  he  soon  let  go  von  hand,  and  den  de  toder,  and, 
.riving  a  shriek,  he  sunk  mit  oold  Grontergotzler  to  de  pottom.  — I 
vas  den  all  alone,  and  I  vas  glad  I  vas  not  too  trunk  to  pray ;  my 
moder  larn  me  to  pray,  ven  I  vas  no  more  tall  dan  dish,"  — measur 
ing  half  the  length  of  his  hickory  stick.  — "I  pray  to  mine  Got  to 
shpare  me,  and  I  vow  to  trink  no  more  prandy,  and  to  try  to  pe  a 
goot  man.  — Jest  as  de  day  vas  done,  I  vas  taken  vrom  de  wreck, 
by  an  English  man-of-war.  I  have  kept  my  vow ;  I  have  trinkt  no 
more  prandy,  nor  any  oder  shtrong  trink,  for  tirty-foor  year,  and  I 
have  tried  to  pe  a  goot  man,  so  far  as  I  know  how,  —  but  de  merci 
ful  Got,  who  has  shpared  me,  musht  pe  de  judge  of  dat."  —  As  he 
uttered  these  last  words,  the  tears  streamed  down  the  furrows  of 
the  old  Dutchman's  face,  and  we  were  all  deeply  affected  by  his 
simple  narrative. 

For  a  short  time,  we  rode  forward  in  silence.  —  "It  is  a  painful 
truth,  sir,"  said  the  lady,  who  sat  before  me,  directing  her  eyes,  as 
she  spoke,  towards  the  elderly  gentleman  ;  "  it  is  a  painful  truth,  as 
you  have  remarked,  that  examples  of  intemperance  are  to  be  found 
among  women.  They  certainly  are,  and  among  females  of  every 
grade  in  society.  I  have  seen  poor  women,  thoroughly  drunk  upon 
rum;  and  very  fine  ladies,  who  have  dropped  in,  here  and  there, 
among  their  acquaintances  and  at  confectionary  stores,  of  a  morning, 
and  who  had  become  ridiculously  tipsy,  and  even  worse,  before  they 
reached  their  own  homes.  I  do  not  desire  to  excuse  or  even  to 
palliate  the  offences  of  females,  in  this  respect.  But  I  believe,  sir, 
there  are  no  female  distillers,  nor  wholesale  brewers,  nor  wine- 
makers.  The  manufacture  of  the  means  of  intoxication  is  pretty 
much  in  the  hands  of  your  sex."  —  "  Your  observation,  madam," 
replied  the  elderly  gentleman,  "  is  perfectly  just ;  and,  in  domestic 
life,  though  the  husband  may  be  driven  to  intemperance  by  the 
wife's  extravagance,  or  defection,  yet  I  believe  a  vastly  greater 
numbe.  of  wives  are  made  drunkards,  by  the  example  of  their  hus 
bands,  than  husbands  by  the  example  of  their  wives."  —  "You 
spoke,  sir,"  continued  the  lady,  "  of  intemperance  among  th« 


92  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

elergy.  I  scarcely  know  which  is  the  more  likely  to  excite  our 
sorrow  and  surprise,  an  intemperate  female  of  rank  and  education, 
or  an  intemperate  clergyman."  — "  The  clergyman,  madam,  beyond 
all  doubt,"  replied  the  elderly  gentleman  ;  "he  has  been  solemnly 
set  apart,  with  his  own  free  consent,  for  the  service  of  his  Lord  and 
Master."  —  "The  village,  in  which  I  was  born,"  said  the  lady, 
"  and  in  which  I  have  passed  the  chief  part  of  my  life,  is  somewhat 
remarkable,  for  a  succession  of  intemperate  clergymen.  Three, 
within  my  own  knowledge,  were  intemperate  men.  They  are  TOW 
dead,  however,  and  there  is  a  proverb,  you  know,  sir,  which,  in  the 
opinion  of  many,  exempts  them  from  all  censure."  —  "  There  is  a 
proverb,"  replied  the  elderly  gentleman,  "  I  am  aware,  which  for 
bids  us  to  say  anything  but  good  of  the  dead  ;  but  I  doubt  the  wis 
dom  and  the  policy  of  such  a  proverb.  I  have  more  respect  for  the 
practice  of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  which  was  precisely  opposite. 
They  suffered  their  living  monarchs  to  reign  uncensured  ;  but,  upon 
their  decease,  they  proceeded  formally  to  try  them  upon  their  mer 
its,  and  awarded  praise  or  censure  to  their  memories  accordingly. 
Few  men  are  utterly  regardless  of  posthumous  reputation,  whethei 
its  boundaries  be  the  whole  world  or  the  corner  of  some  little 
hamlet.  It  is  said,  that  he,  who  dies,  can  take  nothing  with  him  : 
surely  he  should  not  be  permitted  to  take  with  him  into  the  grave 
of  oblivion  the  reputation  of  his  misdeeds.  The  highest  and  holiest 
motive  is  the  love  of  God.  But  it  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  full 
and  free  operation  of  this  heavenly  spring,  that  others  should  act 
simultaneously  with  it,  for  the  production  of  the  same  result.  Thus 
the  desire  to  leave  our  children  that,  which  is  infinitely  better  than 
riches,  a  dying  father's  good  name,  is  a  legitimate  motive.  How 
soothing,  in  a  dying  hour,  surrounded  by  our  children  and  friends, 
to  ask,  in  the  cheering  confidence  of  truth,  and  in  the  language 
of  the  prophet,  Whose  ox  have  I  taken?  or  whose  ass  have  1 
taken?  or  whom  have  I  defrauded?  Whom  have  I  oppressed?  or 
of  whose  hand  have  I  received  any  bribe  to  blind  mine  eyes  there 
with  ?  If  dust  to  dust  is  to  close  the  account  forever,  as  between 
man  and  man,  a  strong  inducement  to  good  conduct  is  taken 
away.  Judgment  is  with  the  Lord ;  but  I  perceive  in  the  just 
expression  of  opinion,  touching  the  merits  of  the  dead,  ric  presump 
tuous  interference  with  the  final  decrees  of  an  all-righteous  God. 
We  have  given  this  day,  thus  far,  to  the  subject  of  intemperance, 
and  I  shall  be  quite  contented,  if  the  remainder  of  it  be  bestowed  in 
a  similar  manner  ;  and,  unless  you  have  a  serious  objection,  I  should 
be  gratified  to  hear  some  account  of  your  three  clergymen,  whose 
errors  ought  not  to  terminate  in  their  own  personal  affliction  and 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  93 

disgrace,  but  extend  beneficially  in  the  shape  of  a  solemn  warning  to 
others."  —  "I  have  nothing  to  offer,  sir,"  rejoined  the  lady,  "in 
opposition  to  your  reasoning ;  and  I  will  briefly  relate  all  that  I 
recollect  of  their  intemperate  habits." 


PART    FOURTH. 

"  The  temperance  reformation  has  produced  so  great  a  change 
in  practice  and  opinion,  since  the  days  of  my  childhood,  that  I  have 
sometimes  half  doubted  the  accuracy  of  my  own  recollections.  I 
occasionally  ask  myself,  if  it  were  really  the  case,  that  miristers  of 
the  gospel  accustomed  themselves,  at  any  period,  on  week  days,  and 
upon  the  Sabbath,  to  the  use  of  rum,  and  brandy,  and  gin,  and  their 
various  compounds,  such  as  sling,  and  toddy,  and  flip.  But  my 
memory  suffers  me  not  long  to  remain  in  uncertainty.  A  mass  of 
melancholy  facts  soon  gather  to  its  aid,  and  leave  not  a  doubt  upon 
my  mind.  My  earliest  recollections  of  strong  drink,  are  directly 
associated  with  the  person  of  the  clergyman,  who  was  settled  in  our 
village,  when  I  was  born.  He  baptized  me.  That  was  twenty- 
nine  years  ago.  Temperance  was  seldom  spoken  cf,  when  I  was  a 
little  girl,  except  in  a  general  way.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  a 
temperance  society.  Mr.  Motey  was  about  sixty,  at  that  time, 
and  had  preached  for  our  people  more  than  twenty  years.  He  was 
very  fond  of  me,  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  and  used,  almost  always, 
when  he  came  to  our  house,  to  take  me  upon  his  knee.  Some 
times  I  was  pleased  to  sit  there,  and  at  other  times,  I  ran  away  ;  and 
when  my  mother  asked  me  why  I  did  so,  I  remember  to  have  told 
her,  that  I  did  not  like  to  sit  upon  Parson  Motey's  knee,  when  his 
breath  smelt  of  rum.  She  told  me,  that  I  must  treat  clergymen 
with  respect,  and  that  ministers  had  a  hard  task  to  perform,  and 
must  have  spirit  to  support  them  like  other  people.  I  soon  acquired 
such  a  knowledge  of  Parson  Motey's  habits  as  enabled  me  to  know, 
without  approaching  him,  whether  he  had  been  drinking  spirit  or 
not.  When  he  had  not,  his  manners  and  tone  of  voice,  were  mild 
and  paternal ;  but,  when  he  had,  they  did  not  seem  like  a  minister's ; 
his  face  was  flushed ;  his  voice  was  loud ;  and  his  manners  were 
light  He  told  very  droll  stories,  and  laughed  very  boisterously. 
Upon  such  occasions,  I  used  to  run  away,  and  peep  through  the 
crack  of  the  door;  and,  when  he  had  gone,  I  remember  to  have  said, 
•  Mother,  what  a  funny  minister  Parson  Motey  is ! '  —  The  idea, 
that  our  old  minister  had  done  wrong,  in  this  respect,  never  entered 
my  mind.  I  can  assign  no  cause,  peculiar  to  myself,  but,  as  I  hava 


94  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

etated,  his  breath  was  very  disagreeable  to  me,  as  a  child ;  and  his 
habit  of  taking  spirit  became  such  a  daily  custom,  before  I  was  six 
years  old.  that  I  never  sat  upon  his  knee  after  that  age.  Parson 
Motey  was  a  great  favorite  with  his  people.  He  fell  away  sadly 
before  he  died,  and  I  have  now  no  doubt,  that  the  habits  of  his 
parishioners,  which  were  almost  universal,  some  four  and  twenty 
years  ago,  operating  upon  his  social  nature,  occasioned  his  down 
fall.  Wherever  he  came,  nothing  was  too  good  for  the  minister ; 
and  nothing  was  better  than  a  cheering  glass.  Theie  was  nothing, 
in  the  nature  of  this  good  thing,  which  confined  its  employment  to 
any  particular  hour  of  the  day.  Mrs.  Motey  herself  was  satisfied, 
to  use  her  forcible  expression,  that  it  was  the  wry  life  and  soul 
of  her  husband.  She  was  everlastingly  stirring  up  something  foi 
Mr.  Motey ;  and,  if  it  were  not  precisely  agreeable,  it  was  no  fault 
of  hers,  for  full  thirty-three  and  a  third  per  centum  of  the  racy 
mixture,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  commonly  consumed  by  Mrs. 
Motey,  during  the  process  of  preparation.  I  became  intimate  at  the 
parsonage,  as  I  grew  older,  and  have  frequently  witnessed  her  per^ 
formances.  She  invariably  sipped  a  little  of  the  raw  material, 
whether  rum,  gin,  brandy,  or  whiskey,  —  originally,  no  doubt,  to 
ascertain  its  quality  ;  but,  at  last,  from  the  mere  force  of  habit.  As 
she  poured  in  water,  she  tasted  it  again,  to  judge  of  its  strength ; 
when  she  added  sugar,  she  once  more  sipped  a  few  drops,  to  be 
sure  that  it  was  sufficiently  sweet,  for  no  man  had  a  sweeter  tooth 
than  Mr.  Motey;  next  came  the  nutmeg,  and  again  this  faithful 
creature  applied  the  lessening  compound  to  her  lips ;  the  poker, 
which  seemed  to  be  heated  in  a  vestal  furnace,  —  for  it  was  kept 
constantly  ready  for  action,  —  the  poker  was  now  immersed  in  the 
hissing  and  bubbling  compound ;  and  then  —  for  she  would  not  burn 
Mr.  Motey  for  the  world  —  then  she  lingered  over  the  blessed 
strengthener,  blowing  and  sipping  alternately  for  five  long  minutes. 
It  was  amusing  to  witness  the  reverential  air,  with  which  she  tottled 
up  to  her  lord  and  master,  and  presented  all  that  remained  of  the 
fruit  of  her  labors.  She  seemed  almost  to  worship  her  good  hus 
band,  and  Jupiter  had  not  a  more  obsequious  cupbearer  in  Gany 
mede.  —  In  the  morning,  Mr.  Motey  must  not  go  out  without 
something  to  keep  the  wind  off  his  stomach.  He  must  take  a  little 
brandy  before  dinner,  for  an  appetite,  and  a  little  after,  for  a 
digester.  He  must  lace  his  coffee  with  a  little  brandy,  to  prevent 
it  from  gnawing  on  his  vitals  ;  and  a  cup  of  hot  gin  sling,  to  promote 
repose.  If  she  visited  in  his  company,  she  would  scarcely  be 
seated,  before  she  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  hostess,  — '  Mr.  Motey 
I  think,  my  dear,  would  like  to  take  a  little  something.' 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  95 

"  Mr.  Motey  was  a  man  of  talents.  He  had  full  possession  of 
the  love  and  respect  of  his  parishioners,  till  he  gradually  lost  them 
both,  as  this  habit  of  intemperance  became  more  manifest,  from  year 
to  year.  It  is  fully  impressed  upon  my  memory,  that  his  conduct 
in  the  sanctuary  was  occasionally  very  extraordinary.  I  have 
known  him  deliver  a  funeral  sermon  in  the  morning,  in  his  ordinary 
manner,  himself  apparently  unmoved,  while  the  relatives  were 
evidently  convulsed  with  sorrow ;  on  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day, 
I  have  heard  him  deliver  a  very  common-place  discourse,  upon  some 
point  of  doctrine,  entirely  unsusceptible  of  pathos,  and,  during  the 
delivery,  I  have  seen  him  shed  tears  profusely.  At  that  time,  hi) 
father,  who  was  a  farmer,  had  a  man  in  his  service,  who  had  pre 
viously  lived  in  the  family  of  Parson  Motey.  This  man  heard  my 
father  expressing  his  surprise  after  meeting,  and  remarked  that  he 
guessed  he  knew  how  it  happened.  '  And  how  do  you  account  for 
it,  Jedediah?'  said  my  father.  '  Why,  sir,'  he  replied,  'if  I  may 
be  so  bold,  it 's  hot  sling.  It  always  acts  jest  so  upon  the  old  gen 
tleman.  The  old  lady  never  fails  to  stir  him  up  a  mug  arter 
preaching,  and  now  the  intermission  's  so  short,  it  takes  holt  on 
him,  jest  about  the  eend  of  the  second  prayer  or  the  beginning  o' 
the  sarmon.  Hot  sling  makes  the  old  gentleman  as  kind  as  pie. 
He  come  out  into  the  kitchen  one  Sunday  night,  and  told  me  how 
he  had  some  thoughts  o'  building  me  a  house  and  barn.' 

"  His  habits  became,  at  length,  so  very  bad,  that  the  necessity  of 
a  separation  began  to  be  whispered  about.  Upon  one  occasion,  we 
had  rain  for  six  days,  without  an  hour's  intermission.  It  was  in 
mowing  time ;  and,  unfortunately,  the  farmers  had  cut  vast  quan 
tities  of  hay,  which  lay  spoiling  on  the  ground.  On  Sunday  after 
noon,  while  it  was  pouring  down  in  torrents,  Parson  Motey  prayed 
most  fervently,  that  the  windows  of  heaven  might  be  opened, 
complaining  that  the  whole  earth  was  turned  to  powder  and  dust. 
Farmer  Thaxter,  a  neighbor  of  ours,  who  had  cut  forty  acres,  and 
had  not  got  in  a  spire  of  it,  was  in  a  terrible  passion ;  but  my 
father  endeavored  to  soothe  him  by  stating  that  such  extraordinary 
prayers  could  not  be  granted.  A  committee  was  appointed  to  wait 
upon  this  poor  old  man,  and  warn  him  to  avoid  the  discipline  of  the 
church,  by  retiring  from  the  post,  which  he  had  dishonored.  This 
committee  held  several  meetings,  but  could  not  elect  a  chairman. 
Notwithstanding  his  misconduct  of  late  years,  no  one  of  the  com 
mittee  could  be  prevailed  upon  to  take  the  lead,  and  be  the  herald 
of  such  painful  tidings.  One  remembered  that  his  earliest  religious 
impressions  had  been  received  under  this  old  man's  ministry; 
another  had  heard  him,  in  better  days,  pouring  forth  his  whole  sou] 


96  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

in  prayer,  by  the  bedside  of  a  dying  father.  This  perplexity,  how 
ever,  was  not  of  long  duration.  About  a  fortnight  after  the  ap 
pointment  of  the  committee,  it  pleased  God  to  take  the  cause  into 
his  own  hands.  An  apoplectic  fit  terminated  the  old  gentleman's 
career.  His  widow  survived  him  a  few  years  only.  Three  of  his 

children  are  drunken  paupers  in  the  poor-house  of -. 

Our  pulpit  was  supplied  for  about  three  months,  by  different 
preachers.  Of  all  those  who  officiated  among  us,  no  one  appeared 
to  excite  so  much  interest,  as  the  Reverend  Philander  Feather 
weight.  He  was  a  very  handsome  young  man,  and  certainly 
exerted  a  powerful  influence,  in  calling  out  the  unmarried  females 
of  our  congregation,  between  the  years  of  fifteen  and  thirty.  Dur 
ing  the  last  five  years  of  Mr.  Motey's  ministry,  the  McTweedle 
pew  had  remained  almost  entirely  unoccupied ;  but  no  sooner  was 
it  matter  of  rational  conjecture,  that  Mr.  Featherweight  would  be 
our  pastor,  than  the  pew  was  furnished  with  new  cushions,  and  the 
seven  Miss  McTweedles  were  constantly  in  their  seats,  during 
morning  and  evening  service.  Mr.  Featherweight  was  undoubtedly 
indebted,  not  a  little,  to  his  personal  appearance  and  address,  for  his 
rapid  growth  in  the  good  graces  of  our  young  people.  His  whiskers 
were  the  largest,  and  the  blackest,  and  altogether  the  handsomest,  that 
had  been  sported  in  our  parish,  for  many  years ;  though  there  were 
some,  who  thought  them  not  quite  so  glossy,  as  those  of  young  Ather- 
ton  the  stage-driver.  When  the  Reverend  Philander  Featherweight 
walked  across  our  common,  with  the  velvet  facing  of  his  cloak  thrown 
gracefully  over  his  shoulder,  &  la  cavalier,  a  warm-hearted  friend  of 
mine,  Miss  Arethusa  Cooley,  avowed  her  conviction  that  he  would 
certainly  fill  the  church.  His  dress  and  manner  were,  according  to 
the  good  old  standard,  somewhat  unprofessional.  «  Even  the  dress 
of  a  clergyman,'  says  an  agreeable  writer,*  '  should  be  in  character, 
and  nothing  can  be  more  despicable  than  conceited  attempts  at  avoid 
ing  the  appearance  of  the  clerical  order ;  attempts,  which  are  as 
ineffectual  as  they  are  pitiful.  Dr.  Porteus,  the  Bishop  of  London, 
in  his  excellent  charge,  when  presiding  over  the  diocese  of  Chester, 
justly  animadverts  upon  this  subject,  and  observes  of  a  reverend 
fop,  that  he  can  be  but  half  a  beau.' — Mr.  Featherweight's  ser- 
nons  were  exceedingly  flowery,  and  his  gestures  were  not  ungrace- 
tul.  Old  Deacon  Tower,  who  was  a  man  of  sterling  worth,  and 
sterling  sense,  was  evidently  dissatisfied  with  the  new  candidate. 
The  deacon  was  a  man  of  few  words,  and,  when  the  Reverend  Phi 
lander  Featherweight  was  commended,  by  some  young  people,  ill 

*  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  Lond.  Ed.    1835.    Vol.  viii.,  p.  50. 


THE  ^PAGE-COACH.  97 

the  good  deacon's  hearing1,  for  his  beautiful  tropes  and  figures,  and 
his  elegant  gestures,  the  deacon  observed,  with  a  pleasant  smile, — 
*  Not  only  so,  but  also.' 

"  Mr.  Featherweight  was  nevertheless  getting  to  be  very  popular 
with  our  people,  and  it  became  pretty  generally  understood,  that  he 
would  have  an  invitation  to  settle.  These  fair  prospects  were  des 
tined  to  be  blasted.  A  deputy  sheriff  arrived  in  our  village,  and 
arrested  the  Rev.  Philander  Featherweight  for  a  debt,  contracted  in 

the  town  of .     Some  of  our  people  obtained  a  sight  of  the 

writ,  and  the  account  annexed,  and  it  was  soon  whispered  about, 
that  the  claim  was  for  the  amount  of  a  confectioner's  bill  of  two 
years'  standing,  and  that  the  principal  items  were  jellies,  cakes,  and 
cordials.  '  What  do  you  think  of  this1?'  said  my  father  to  old  Dea 
con  Tower.  — '  Providential,'  — replied  the  deacon.  This  incident 
closed  the  account  forever  between  our  people  and  the  Reverend 
Philander  Featherweight.  When  the  breach  has  been  once  effected, 
it  is  surprising  how  rapidly  the  waters  will  find  their  way  through 
the  crevasse.  No  sooner  had  the  reputation  of  this  young  man 
become  a  questionable  matter,  than  every  sharp-shooter  of  the  vil 
lage  made  use  of  it  for  a  target,  and  reports,  of  which  several  were 
but  too  well  founded,  were  extensively  circulated,  to  the  disparage 
ment  of  the  Reverendt  Philander  Featherweight.  It  was  proved, 
beyond  all  doubt,  that  his  habits  were  intemperate  ;  and  that  he  had 
concealed  his  evil  disposition,  during  his  period  of  probation,  that 
he  might  the  more  certainly  secure  a  settlement. 

"  We  continued  more  than  eighteen  months,  without  a  settled 
minister,  depending,  for  the  services  of  the  sanctuary,  upon  such 
clergymen  as  we  could  obtain  from  week  to  week.  Those  individ 
uals,  upon  whom  the  selection  of  a  minister  chiefly  depended,  had 
become  extremely  wary,  and  went  to  their  work,  after  their  past 
experiences,  with  fear  and  trembling.  At  last,  the  voice  of  the  peo 
ple  appeared  to  fall,  with  a  remarkable  degree  of  unanimity,  upon 
the  Reverend  Cyprian  Pottle.  He  was  about  thirty  years  of  age. 
His  personal  appearance  was  inferior  to  Mr.  Featherweight's,  but 
he  had  the  reputation  of  great  learning  and  piety.  He  was  short 
and  thickset,  with  a  round,  rosy,  shining  face,  brimful  of  bonhom- 
mie.  He  was  married;  and,  on  that  account,  less  likely  to  breed 
disturbance  in  the  p?,rish.  After  a  careful  investigation  of  his  char 
acter,  he  was  settled  ;  and  the  McTweedles  soon  fell  into  their  old 
habit  of  neglecting  the  services  of  the  sanctuary.  '  Of  one  thing,' 
said  Deacon  Tower,  '  we  are  morally  sure  —  Mr.  Pottle  never  takes 
any  spirit,  and  disapproves  of  it  altogether.'  —  Our  new  minister 
seemed  determined  to  set  the  fears  of  the  parish  at  rest  on  that 

VOL.  n.  9 


98  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

score ;  for,  upon  the  third  Sabbath  after  he  had  been  settled  among 
us,  he  preached  a  sermon  on  temperance.  He  spoke  of  the  evils  of 
drinking  spirit,  denouncing  drunkenness,  with  unmeasured  severity. 
Even  at  that  early  day,  he  had  the  boldness  to  declare  his  belief, 
that  spirit  was  not  only  the  frequent  cause  of  poverty,  and  crime, 
and  death  itself,  but  that  it  was  quite  useless  to  mankind,  unless  in 
some  extraordinary  cases.  At  the  close  of  this  discourse,  he  inti 
mated  his  intention  to  pursue  the  subject  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Those,  who  had  an  abiding  terror  of  the  rock,  upon  which  Par 
son  Motey  had  fallen,  in  his  latter  days,  wore  greatly  comforted  by 
this  discourse.  Deacon  Tower  came  forth  from  the  meeting-Louse; 
with  a  smile  of  high  satisfaction  upon  his  countenance.  — '  This  is 
our  man,'  said  he,  rubbing  his  hands  together.  — '  I  've  rny  doubts,' 
said  Colonel  Millet,  the  tavern-keeper.  —  'Why,  colonel,'  rejoined 
the  deacon,  '  you  must  not  think  too  much  of  your  trade.' — '  'T  isn't 
o'  my  trade  neither  that  I  'm  a  thinking,  Deacon  Tower,'  replied 
the  colonel,  '  but  of  your  minister.  Gurney,  that  teams  for  me,  told 
me  yesterday,  when  he  went  down  to  the  city,  that  he  carried  a 
note  from  the  minister  to  a  wholesale  dealer,  and  that  he  brought 
back  a  cask  of  English  porter,  marked  Rev.  Cyprian  Pottle.'  — 
1  Are  you  certain  of  this?'  inquired  the  deacon.  —  'Jest  as  sartain,' 
replied  the  colonel,  '  as  that  your  old  mare  's  windgalled.  Why, 
do  you  suppose  it 's  skim-milk,  that  gives  a  body  such  a  fresh  color, 
deacon,  eh?'  —  The  deacon  was  not  much  elated  with  this  piece 
of  information ;  and,  when  he  resumed  his  seat  in  the  afternoon,  his 
confidence  was  not  quite  so  strong,  as  when  he  left  it  in  the  morn 
ing.  The  habit  of  drinking  spirit  was  so  very  general  in  our  vil 
lage,  that  the  morning's  discourse  gave  no  little  offence.  Neverthe 
less,  the  meeting-house  was  unusually  full  in  the  afternoon  ;  many 
who  were  not  present  in  the  morning,  had  heard  of  the  sermon,  and 
were  desirous  of  hearing  the  new  minister  handle  a  subject,  which 
had  never  been  brought  before  them  by  Parson  Motey.  —  He  took 
his  text,  in  the  afternoon,  from  Paul's  First  Epistle  to  Timothy, 
fifth  chapter,  and  twenty-third  verse.  Drink  no  longer  water,  but 
use  a  little  wine  for  thy  stomach's  sake  and  thine  often  infirmities 
Some  of  the  most  sedate,  among  his  parishioners,  were  greatly  dis 
turbed  at  Parson  Pottle's  manner  of  handling  this  text.  A  frequent 
repetition  of  the  passage  occurred  in  his  discourse  ;  and  in  no  instance 
did  his  accent  fall  on  the  word  little,  but  invariably  on  wine,  as  contra 
distinguished  from  water.  He  did  not  once  advert  to  the  important 
fact,  that  Timothy  was  a  man  of  feeble  constitution,  a  '  mortified 
man  to  the  pleasures  of  sense,'  as  I  think  he  is  called  by  Henry,  in 
his  commentary  on  this  passage.  Indeed,  I  have  no  doubt,  that  very 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  99 

many  of  Parson  Pottle's  hearers  were  impressed  vrith  the  idea,  that 
this  direction  of  the  apostle  was  of  general  application.  He  stated 
expressly,  that  two  reasons  were  offered  by  the  apostle,  for  avoiding 
water,  and  drinking  wine,  one,  the  stomach's  sake,  and  the  other, 
often  infirmities,  and  that  either  was  sufficient.  He  asserted  that 
distilled  spirit  was  unknown,  as  he  supposed,  in  Paul's  time;  that 
it  was  man's  contrivance  ;  but  that  fermented  liquors  were  then 
known  and  commended ;  that  beer,  especially,  which  was  supposed 
to  have  been  first  made  in  Egypt,  was  a  remarkably  wholesome  and 
nutritious  beverage ;  that  it  was  a  good  creature  of  God ;  that  our 
Saviour  made  wine  himself  at  the  marriage  feast ;  and  he  strongly 
intimated,  that  it  was  very  creditable  to  drink  it  occasionally,  and 
always  at  weddings,  as  a  testimony  of  respect  for  the  Redeemer 
.During  the  delivery  of  this  discourse,  the  parson  was  exceedingly 
drowsy,  and  gaped  repeatedly.  Aftef  meeting,  Deacon  Towei 
endeavored  to  keep  out  of  Colonel  Millet's  way,  and  go  home  as 
soon  as  possible.  But  the  colonel  hailed  him,  as  he  was  getting 
over  the  rail  fence,  to  get  home  the  shortest  way  ;  and  the  deacon, 
who  well  knew  the  colonel's  boisterous  manner,  turned  back  into 
the  road,  and  joined  him,  to  prevent  his  remarks  from  being  over 
heard.  '  Well,  Deacon  Tower,'  said  he,  '  what  do  you  think  of  the 
new  minister  now?' — The  deacon  shook  his  head,  and  looked 
grievously,  but  uttered  not  a  syllable.  —  'Deacon,'  continued  the 
colonel,  '  my  opinion  isn't  no  great  shakes,  I  suppose,  but  I  '11  tell 
ye  what  Gurney,  the  teamster,  said  jest  now,  on  the  meeting-house 
steps,  right  out,  afore  everybody ;  says  he,  "  If  there  baant  hops 
and  malt  in  that  are  sarment,  my  name  's  not  Noah  Gurney  ;  for," 
says  he,  "  one  o'  the  bottles  in  the  cask  o'  porter  I  brought  up  for 
him,  broke  a  coming  up,  and  I  'd  nothing  to  save  it  in,  so  I  drank  a 
part  on  't,  and  it  took  sich  a  holt  o'  my  narves,  that  I  got  sound 
asleep  in  my  wagon,  and,  arter  I  woke,  I  felt,  a  good  while, 
jest  as  the  minister  looked  while  he  was  a  preaching."  —  I  guess 
we  've  got  out  o'  the  frying-pan  slick  into  the  fire,  deacon.'  —  The 
deacon  shook  his  head  mournfully,  but  ventured  not  to  reply ;  but 
the  good  old  man  was  made  sick  by  his  painful  apprehensions  for 
the  result.  He  was  himself  a  highly  respectable  expounder  of  holy 
writ ;  and  he  was  severely  shocked  by  such  a  palpable  perversion 
of  Scripture  ;  and,  when  he  reflected  upon  the  story  of  the  cask  of 
porter,  and  Parson  Pottle's  lethargic  manner,  during  the  delivery  of 
his  afternoon's  discourse,  he  had  some  fears  that  the  poor  man's 
appetite  for  stimulants  had  warped  his  construction  of  God's  word. 
Wine,  in  truth,  said  the  good  deacon  within  himself,  is  a  mocker. 
"  Such  were  the  habits  of  our  people,  that  they  would  never  have 


100  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

thought  of  scrutinizing-  the  private  life  and  conversation  of  their  min 
ister,  if  he  had  not  proclaimed  open  war  upon  their  idols,  in  the  form 
of  stone  jugs.  His  free  indulgence  in  the  use  of  fermented  liquoi 
would  have  passed  unrebuked,  had  he  not  so  severely  reprobated 
their  employment  of  distilled  spirit.  As  it  was,  he  had  gone  too  far 
to  retrace  his  steps  with  dignity  or  grace  ;  and  the  people  were  too 
highly  incensed  to  forgive  or  forbear.  He  had  thrown  the  first 
stone,  and,  in  their  judgment,  gratuitously  ;  nay  more,  provokingly  ; 
and  there  were  some  persevering  spirits  among  them,  who  were 
resolved  to  ascertain,  if  any  portion  of  the  parson's  house  were  made 
of  glass.  —  He,  who  has  ever  made  a  village^his  place  of  residence 
for  any  other  than  a  very  limited  period,  must  have  perceived  how 
skilfully  the  art  of  espionage  is  conducted  there.  Hundreds  of  pry 
ing  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  movements  of  the  Reverend  Cyprian 
Pottle.  The  tongues  of  man-servant  and  maid-servant  were  put  in 
requisition,  and  the  very  ox  and  ass,  had  they  been  as  talkative  as 
Balaam's,  would  have  been  examined  and  cross-examined  by  the 
parish.  Ears,  even  the  dullest  of  hearing  in  the  village,  were 
opened  wide  for  the  reception  of  a  thousand  tales.  So  that,  by  the 
combined  exertions  of  eyes,  ears,  and  tongues,  it  was  well  under 
stood,  in  the  course  of  a  few  months,  precisely  in  what  manner, 
from  sun  to  sun,  the  parson  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  his  being. 
The  squabbles  of  Parson  Pottle  and  his  lady  were  soon  bruited 
abroad  ;  it  was  even  rumored,  that  they  disputed  which  of  the  twain 
had  drunk  the  larger  half  of  the  bottle  of  porter  at  the  dinner-table. 
His  reputation  for  piety  and  learning  had  undoubtedly  been  over 
rated  upon  his  first  arrival ;  and  there  were  not  a  few,  who  now 
began  to  deny  his  legitimate  title  to  either.  He  was  not  deficient 
in  cunning  and  a  ready  apprehension  of  the  characters  of  men.  It 
required  a  brief  application  only  of  Parson  Pottle's  powers,  to  fathom, 
to  the  very  bottom,  the  simple,  single-hearted  disposition  of  good, 
old  Deacon  Tower.  The  deacon,  about  a  year  after  Mr.  Pottle  had 
come  among  us,  was  urged,  by  the  graver  portion  of  our  people, 
to  visit  him,  and  advise  him  of  the  reports,  which  were  circulating 
to  his  disadvantage.  The  deacon,  though  with  great  reluctance, 
waited  upon  him,  to  execute  this  embarrassing  commission.  The 
parson's  features  were  as  flexible  as  caoutchouc  ;  and  it  was  really 
surprising  to  witness  the  various  expressions,  which  they  assumed, 
as  different  emotions  predominated  over  the  inner  man.  Although 
they  were  s  irrendered,  at  one  moment,  to  the  broadest  development 
•)f  perfect  good-humor,  at  the  next,  they  were  the  very  image  and 
superscription  of  the  coldest  austerity.  He  had  been  forewarned  of 
the  deacon's  design,  and  met  his  first  accost,  in  such  a  formal  and 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  101 

forbidding  manner,  that  the  old  man  departed,  after  a  little  unim 
portant  conversation,  without  the  slightest  allusion  to  the  real  object 
of  his  visit.  I  have  seldom  met  an  individual,  of  as  limited  powers, 
whose  look,  and  manner,  and  sonorous  voice,  had  such  a  withering 
effect  upon  persons  of  indifferent  nerves.  I  recollect  an  amusing 
illustration  of  this  fact.  I  called  one  day  at  the  parsonage,  with  a 
neighbor  of  ours,  a  Mrs.  Matilda  Moodey.  After  a  pause,  '  Mr. 
Pottle,'  said  she,  'I  am  almost  ashamed  to  confess  my  ignorance, 
but  you  said  something  in  your  last  discourse,  which  I  did  not  ex 
actly  understand.'  — '  Well,  madam,'  sdd  he,  with  a  loud  voice  and 
stern  expression,  'and'  pray  what  was  it?'  — '  O,  dear  sir,'  she 
replied,  evidently  confounded  by  his  manner,  '  I  don't  doubt,  in  the 
least,  that  it  was  owing  to  mr  weak  understanding  ;  but  you  said, 
sir,  —  speaking  of  the  wiles  of  Satan,  —  as  if  as  though  to  circum 
vent  thee.'  —  *  O  —  ah —  yes,  Mrs.  Moodey,'  he  answered,  '  I  well 
remember  that  expression.  The  meaning  of  those  words,  madam,' 
raising  his  voice  to  a  terrible  pitch,  and  striking  his  hand  violently 
upon  the  table,  — '  the  meaning  of  those  words  is  this,  Mrs.  Moodey, 
—  AS  IF  AS  THOUGH  TO  CIRCUMVENT  THEE.'  — '  O  dear  me,  Parson 
Pottle,'  cried  Mrs.  Moodey,  with  a  trembling  voice,  '  how  very  clear 
you  make  it  now  !' 

"  Mr.  Pottle  had  unfortunately  placed  himself  between  the  cross 
fires  of  his  parishioners :  those  who  drank  spirit,  were  incensed 
against  him  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  and  the  grave  and  temperate 
members  of  his  congregation  were  thoroughly  disgusted  by  his 
theory  and  practice  ;  his  theory,  as  exhibited  in  his  sermon  upon 
Paul's  counsel  to  Timothy  ;  and  his  practice,  most  unhappily  illus 
trated  by  a  very  free  and  habitual  use  of  malt  liquor,  whose  evil 
consequences  were  too  frequently  made  manifest  in  a  variety  of 
ways.  Nevertheless  he  had  several  stanch  friends  in  the  parish. 
He  was  particularly  attentive  to  the  children  of  his  parishioners,  in 
the  presence  of  their  parents,  whose  favor  he  frequently  secured,  by 
these  little  courtesies.  He  continued  among  us  for  several  years, 
though  very  little,  as  I  am  compelled  to  believe,  to  the  edification  of 
our  people.  He  certainly  was  instrumental  in  bringing  among  us 
the  free  and  familiar  use  of  wine  and  porter.  Dry  visitation  was  a 
thing  almost  unknown  among  the  clergy  of  those  days  ;  and  the 
parishioners  of  Parson  Pottle  were  as  unlikely,  as  those  of  any 
other  clergyman,  to  perpetrate  a  flagrant  violation  of  the  standing 
laws  of  hospitality.  He  had  publicly  pronounced  an  anathema 
against  distilled  liquors  ;  and  all,  who  were  desirous  of  standing 
well  with  their  spiritual  guide,  carefully  concealed  their  rum-jugi 
and  brandy-bottles  from  his  observation,  whose  places  were  abun- 

VOL.  II.  9* 


102  THF  STAGE-COACH. 

dantly  supplied  with  wine  and  porter.  Of  these  he  cheerfully  pai^ 
took,  wherever  he  went ;  and,  as  he  was  remarkable  for  his  parochial 
attentions,  and  particularly  heedful,  at  meals,  of  that  portion  of 
Paul's  counsel,  which  commands  to  '  drink  no  longer  water  ^  it  is 
not  wonderful,  that  the  sad  effects  of  this  daily  practice  were  occa 
sionally  exhibited  before  the  members  of  his  congregation.  His 
excess  of  garrulous  good-nature,  in  the  morning,  began  to  be  almost 
habitually  contrasted  with  his  irritable  lethargy  in  the  afternoon. 
He  became  excessively  corpulent,  and  the  bloated  visage  and  triple 
chin  bore  ample  testimony  to  the  farinaceous  properties  of  malt 
liquor.  At  length,  the  habit  became  inordinate,  and  its  consequences 
truly  deplorable.  When  he  entered  the  house  of  a  parishioner,  he 
was  scarcely  seated,  before  he  asked  for  a  tumbler  of  porter  or  a 
glass  of  wine,  seemingly  with  as  little  rationality  of  motive,  as  may 
be  supposed  to  govern  the  movements  of  a  child,  who  labors  under 
some  affection  of  the  nervous  system.  His  step  became  unsteady  ; 
and,  now  and  then,  under  the  appearance  of  talking  by  the  way,  it 
became  exceedingly  convenient  to  rely  upon  some  worthy  parish 
ioner's  arm,  as  far  as  the  parsonage. 

"  There  were  several  moderate  drinkers  of  ardent  spirit,  of  strong 
heads  and  iron  constitutions,  whose  industry,  activity,  and  orderly 
appearance,  were  extremely  disadvantageous  to  Parson  Pottle's 
theory.  These  men  were  frequently  cited  by  the  rum-drinkers  and 
rum-sellers  ;  and,  upon  a  Sabbath  day,  when  the  parties  were 
coming  forth,  at  the  same  moment,  from  the  meeting-house  door,  it 
was  no  uncommon  thing  to  hear  an  invidious  comparison  between 
the  rugged  appearance  and  active  gait  of  old  Farmer  Furrowdale, 
who  drank  spirit,  though  in  great  moderation,  and  the  unwieldy 
person  and  paralytic  step  of  Parson  Pottle,  whose  principal  beverage 
was  malt  liquor. 

"  In  course  of  time,  it  began  to  be  whispered  about  the  parish, 
that,  where  good  brandy  could  be  had,  and  malt  liquor  could  not, 
Mr.  Pottle  would  not  refuse  to  partake  of  that,  which  was  set  before 
him,  asking  no  questions  for  conscience'  sake.  From  this  period, 
he  fell  away  rapidly  ;  and,  after  a  time,  scarcely  anything  remained 
to  mark  the  holy  man,  beside  the  outward  insignia  of  the  clerical 
office.  My  father  used  to  say,  that  it  was  of  little  importance,  at 
which  side  of  the  pond  a  person  entered  to  cross  over,  if  the  whirl 
pool  were  in  the  middle  ;  meaning,  that  the  chief  danger  lay  in  the 
habit  of  drinking,  which,  when  once  confirmed,  would  as  probably 
lead  its  victim  to  drunkenness,  through  the  agency  of  one  intoxicat 
ing  liquor  as  of  another.  The  services  of  the  sanctuary,  especially 
in  the  afternoon,  were  so  improperly  conducted,  that  the  more 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  103 

religious  frequently  resorted  to  the  adjoining  village  ;  some  remained 
at  home,  and  others  attended,  in  any  bat  a  becoming  spirit.  Upon 
one  occasion,  when  the  people  had  assembled,  notice  was  given, 
that  the  Reverend  Mr.  Pottle  was  taken  suddenly  unwell.  It  was 
afterwards  satisfactorily  established,  that  he  was  too  entirely  over 
come  by  liquor  to  officiate. 

"  We  had,  in  our  congregation,  at  that  time,  several  young  men 
of  steady  habits,  farmers  and  mechanics,  who  were  married,  and 
who,  though  not  members  of  the  church,  had  the  reputation  of  being 
srictly  moral  men.  Some  of  them  had  families  ;  and,  as  the  cler 
gyman's  example  was  constantly  presented  before  their  eyes,  they 
were  very  naturally  apprehensive  of  its  influence  upon  their  chil 
dren.  They  were  indignant  also  at  Parson  Pottle's  conduct,  esteem 
ing  it  a  reproach  upon  their  native  village.  They  therefore  resolved, 
to  use  their  own  words,  '  to  fix  the  minister.'  One  of  their  number 
told  my  husband,  confidentially,  that  they  had  laid  their  plan ;  and, 
since  the  elders  and  church-members  would  not  take  the  matter  up, 
they  were  determined  '  to  fix  the  minister ;'  but  he  begged  my  hus 
band  to  say  nothing  of  the  matter  to  Deacon  Tower.  My  husband, 
however,  would  not  consent  to  keep  their  secret.  This  precipitated 
the  execution  of  their  scheme,  which  was  carried  into  effect  the 
very  next  day,  and  before  my  husband  could  inform  the  deacon  of 
their  designs.  The  pain  which  one  feels,  while  recounting  the 
degrading  history  of  a  drunken  clergyman,  would  be  unmingled, 
were  it  not  for  the  impressive  and  valuable  lesson,  which  it  teaches, 
in  connection  with  the  total  abstinence  reform.  It  shows,  that  even 
the  holy  office,  the  solemn  consecration  of  one's  powers  to  the  ser 
vice  of  Almighty  God,  the  sanctity  of  those  vows,  which  are  made 
upon  the  very  altar,  are  all  insufficient  to  save  poor  human  nature 
from  the  effects  of  this  sweeping  scourge.  No  man  may  rightfully 
complain  of  an  adder's  sting,  if  he  will  take  it  to  his  bosom,  with  a 
knowledge  of  its  properties  and  powers.  —  The  remainder  of  this 
revolting  tale  may  be  briefly  told.  On  the  day  after  their  design 
had  been  communicated  to  my  husband,  they  so  arranged  their  plan, 
as  to  have  the  clergyman  invited  to  dine  at  the  house  of  one  of  their 
number,  in  a  distant  part  of  the  village,  who  plied  him  so  success 
fully  with  wine  and  ale,  that  he  had  some  difficulty  in  walking, 
when  he  left  the  house  after  dinner.  He  had  not  gone  far  on  his 
way  home,  before  he  was  encountered  by  another,  who  persuaded 
him  to  walk  in.  There  again  the  process  was  repeated,  and  again, 
after  an  hour's  compotation,  he  ventured  forth,  scarcely  able  to 
stagger  homeward.  He  had  gotten,  with  infinite  difficulty,  half 
a  mile  further  on  his  way,  and  stood  resting  against  the  wall 


J04  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

near  the  house  of  a  Mr.  Clinch,  a  carpenter,  another  of  the  con 
spirators,  who  had  resolved  '  to  fix  the  minister.'  Clinch  had  hia 
eye  upon  him,  and  approached  the  spot  where  he  stood.  — '  Bless 
my  heart,  parson,'  said  he,  '  is  it  you?  Why,  I  want  to  know! 
Why,  you  baant  well,  I  guess,  or  you  wouldn't  be  to  roost  on  the 
wall  here,  I  reckon.'  —  'I'm  a  little  uneasy,'  said  the  minister. 
'  It 's  all  owing  to  boiled  pork ;  I  '11  never  touch  it  again.' — '  Boiled 
pork,  hey?  —  why,  how  you  talk! — boiled  in  a  brew-house,  I 
guess,  by  the  smell  o'  your  breath,  parson.  But  come,  go  in  with 
me,  and  try  a  hair  o'  the  old  dog.'  —  'Thank  ye,  Mr.  Bailey,'  said 
the  minister.  —  'It  isn't  Bailey,' said  the  other ;  '  it 's  John  Clinch, 
the  carpenter;  don't  ye  know  me?'  —  Clinch  helped  him  into 
his  house,  and  there  the  work  of  utter  drunkenness  was  consum 
mated.  Before  nine  o'clock,  the  minister  was  in  as  profound  a 
slumber,  as  could  be  produced  by  the  agency  of  hops  and  malt. 

"  A  little  after  ten,  that  night,  and  when  I  had  been  in  bed  about 
half  an  hour,  my  husband  got  up,  in  consequence  of  a  loud  rapping 
at  the  front  door.  He  opened  the  window,  and  discovered  more 
than  a  dozen  young  men  underneath.  The  moon  shone  brightly, 
and  he  instantly  recognized  their  persons. — 'Come  down,'  said 
Clinch.  —  '  What 's  the  matter  ?'  inquired  my  husband.  —  '  Come 
down,  and  see  with  your  own  eyes,'  cried  one  of  their  number.  I 
threw  my  clothes  loosely  over  me,  and  looked  out  of  the  window, 
while  my  husband  went  below.  Four  of  them  supported  a  board, 
with  side  pieces,  which  Clinch,  as  I  afterwards  heard,  had  knocked 
up  for  the  occasion  ;  on  the  top  of  the  board  I  perceived  something, 
the  nature  of  which  I  did  not  then  comprehend,  covered  with  a  bed- 
quilt.  When  my  husband  had  joined  them,  Clinch  threw  down  the 
upper  part  of  the  quilt,  and  said,  '  Did  n't  we  tell  ye  we  'd  fix  him  ?' 
I  instantly  recognized  the  features  of  Parson  Pottle.  My  husband 
rebuked  them  for  their  conduct ;  but  three  or  four  exclaimed  at  once, 
that  their  children  should  not  be  catechized  by  a  drunken  minister 
My  husband  inquired  what  they  designed  to  do  with  him.  They 
replied,  that  they  meant  to  show  him  to  Deacon  Tower  and  three  or 
four  more,  and  then  put  him  to  bed  in  his  own  house ;  and  that  not 
a  hair  of  his  head  should  be  injured.  They  then  moved  off,  two  and 
two,  with  Clinch  at  their  head,  repeating  as  he  went,  — '  Drink  no 
longer  water,  but.  use  a  little  wine  for  thy  stomach's  sake,  and  thine 
often  infirmities)  " 

When  the  lady  had  closed  her  narrative,  —  "  Pray,  madam,"  said 
the  gentleman  in  black,  who  sat  next  me,  "  do  you  vouch  for  the 
truth  of  this  extraordinary  story?"  —  "A  part  of  it,  sir,"  she 
replied,  "  I  saw,  as  I  have  already  told  you  ;  and  the  circumstances 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  105 

as  I  have  related  them,  were  as  well  known  and  as  firmly  believed, 
in  our  village,  as  the  surrender  of  Yorktown  by  Lord  Cornwallis." 

—  "     should  like  to  see  those  young  men,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
black,  "  tied  up  by  their  thumbs,  and  flogged  for  half  an  hour,  with 
a  cat-o '-nine-tails."  —  "And    I,   myself,"   said   the    Dutchman, 
"  vould  like  dat  de  minishter  should  have  de  benefit  of  de  same 
tails  for  de  toder  half  hour."  —  "I  presume.  «ir,"  said  the  elderly 
gentleman  to  the  first  speaker,  who  had  thus  given  vent  to  his  indig 
nation,  "  that  you  are  a  clergyman  ;  and,  if  1  am  correct,  I  devoutly 
hope,  for  the  sake  of  your  parishioners,  that  you  are  a  thorough 
going  temperance  man."  —  "  Sir,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black, 
"  you  are  right  in  your  conjecture ;  I  have  been  for  four  and  twenty 
years  in  the  ministry  ;  and,  as  a  pledged  member  of  a  total  absti 
nence   society,  I   have  contributed,  within  my  humble  sphere,  to 
advance  the  reformation.     But  I  confess  to  you,  that,  under  a  gov 
ernment  of  laws,  which  proposes  to  find  a  remedy  for  every  wrong, 
I  have  felt  pained  and  shocked  at  such  conduct,  on  the  part  of  any 
men,  affecting  to  be  civilized,  towards  a  minister  of  the  gospel.     He 
was  a  subject  for  the  discipline  of  the  church,  and,  upon  the  request 
of  his  parishioners,  the  bond  between  him  and  his  people  would  have 
been  severed."  —  "You  must  not  suppose,  sir,"  said  the   lady, 
"  that  the  respectable  portion  of  our  people  approved  of  such  con 
duct.     The  young  men  themselves  were  heartily  ashamed  of  it ; 
and,  before  Mr.  Pottle  left  the  village,  which  he  did  shortly  after, 

—  for  he  never  preached  there  again, — some  of  these  young  men 
had  the  good  sense  to  call  on  him,  and  express  their  deep  regret  for 
their  share  in  such  unbecoming  conduct,  and  ask  his  forgiveness. 
As  these  young  men  were  otherwise  unblemished  in  reputation,  and 
strictly  temperate,  I  have  related  this  story,  to  show  the  danger  which 
lies  in  the  path  of  a  clergyman  who  meddles  with  intoxicating  drink, 

—  whose  employment  may  sink  his  character  so  very  low,  that  even 
an   association,  not   of  profligates,  but   of  well-meaning,  though 
misguided  young  men,  may  be  gradually  worked  up,  by  his  gross 
intemperance,  to  the  perpetration  of  such  an  outrage."  —  "Your 
motives  for  relating  this  story,  madam,"  said  the  elderly  gentleman, 
"  are,  in  my  judgment,  just  such  as  they  should  be  ;  and  I  should 
rejoice  to  have  it  printed  at  full  length,  upon  the  inside  of  every  wine 
and  beer  drinking  clergyman's  pulpit  in  the  land."  — "  Dat  ish  de 
place  for  it,"  cried  the  Dutchman,  thumping  the  stage-floor  with 
hifc.  hickory,    "dat   ish  de  vary  place  for  it;    only  shtick  up  dat 
«htory  vat  de  lady  hash  told,  in  de  pulpit  of  every  minishter  vat 
tnnks  de  vine  and  de  ale,  and  I  vill  zay  netting  more  apout  de  cat 
o'-nine-tails."  —  "  Well,  sir,"  said  the  elderly  gentleman,  turning 


I 

106  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

to  my  next  neighbor,  "  we  have  many  miles  yet  to  ride  ;  -  suppose 
we  draw  upon  your  stock,  for  the  next  temperance  tale."  —  "  With 
all  my  heart,  sir,"  replied  the  clergyman.  "  The  history  of  drunk 
enness  has  been  almost  an  universal  history.  Its  deep  lines  havw 
been  written  among  the  people  of  every  city  and  village  upon  earth  . 
and  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  gathering  the  materials  together 
I  will  relate  to  you  the  history  of  my  own  parish." 


PART    FIFTH. 

"  I  have  been  the  minister  of  Micklefield  for  four  and  twenty 
years ;  and  there  is  not,  I  apprehend,  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth,  a 
town  of  equal  population,  whose  present  prosperity  is  more  certainly 
attributable  to  the  temperance  reform.  Twenty-four  years  ago,  its 
inhabitants  were  remarkable  for  their  sloth,  ignorance,  irreligion, 
poverty  and  rags.  To  swear  like  a  Micklefield  man,  was  not  then 
less  a  proverb,  in  the  region  round  about,  than  to  drink  like  a  Scyth 
ian,  among  the  Greeks  of  old.  The  foundation  of  this  miserable 
condition  of  things  lay,  broad  and  deep,  in  the  immemorial  habits 
of  the  people.  They  were  drunkards  of  a  drunken  stock.  Drunk 
enness  there  had  ?J  long  and  so  triumphantly  prevailed,  that,  in  the 
language  of  the  '.aw,  the  memory  of  man  ran  not  to  the  contrary. 

"  When  I  w.is  first  settled,  three  distilleries  were  in  full  operation 
in  this  village.  Micklefield  is  situated  upon  the  banks  of  a  naviga 
ble  stream.  It  was  at  that  time  surrounded  with  pitch-pine  forests. 
No  position  could  therefore  have  been  more  eligible  for  a  distil 
ler.  It  would  be  an  interminable  task,  to  calculate  the  amount  of 
molasses,  that  came  up  this  river,  or  the  rum  that  went  down. 
Micklefield,  some  four  and  twenty  years  ago,  was  cursed  with  no 
less  than  nine  men,  '  of  sober  lives  and  conversations,'  who  perpet 
uated  intemperance,  and  kept  up  the  average  stock  of  common  and 
uncommon  drunkards,  from  year  to  year.  At  the  period,  to  which  I 
refer,  I  well  remember,  that  twelve  barrels  of  rum  were  the  annual 
supply  for  the  poor-house.  Ammunition  has  never  been  accounted 
mure  indispensable,  for  the  purposes  of  war,  than  were  rum,  gin, 
and  brandy,  for  the  preservation  of  the  social  compact,  among  the 
inhabitants  of  Micklefield.  The  vapors  of  the  Asphaltite  lake,  if  its 
ancient  legends  were  other  than  fabulous,  could  not  have  proved 
more  fatal  to  those  luckless  birds,  that  attempted  to  fly  over  its  nox 
ious  waters,  than  the  moral  atmosphere  of  Micklefield  to  such  young 
wen,  as  ventured  to  reside  for  any  length  of  time,  within  its  bor- 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  107 

ders.  He,  who  will  live  at  Rome,  must  conform  to  the  hahits  of 
the  Romans.  —  Never  was  the  proverb  more  forcibly  employed, 
than  upon  such  as  came  from  time  to  time,  to  settle  within  the  pre 
cincts  of  this  intemperate  village.  Few  —  very  few  —  escaped  the 
pestilential  influence,  and  many  became  incorrigible  drunkards. 

"  That  man  must  have  been  destitute  indeed,  who  could  not  ten 
der  to  his  visitor  the  means  of  getting  drunk  ;  and  none  but  an 
ascetic  or  an  anchorite  would  have  rejected  the  boon.  The  prof- 
fared  cup  and  its  ready  acceptance  were  equally  required,  by  the 
existing  rules  of  good-breeding.  The  poor  widow,  who  was  about 
to  commit  her  drunken  husband  to  the  ground,  would  have  been 
accounted  guilty  of  gross  indecorum,  had  she  omitted  to  grace  his 
funeral  obsequies,  by  offering,  as  a  refreshment,  the  very  poison, 
which  had  put  the  miserable  victim  out  of  life. 

"  My  predecessor,  in  the  ministry,  at  Micklefield,  was  a  gentle 
man  of  popular  manners.  He  was  not  a  man  of  great  talents  as  a 
preacher  ;  but,  in  the  parochial  relation,  he  had  made  himself  uni 
versally  acceptable.  There  was  not  a  man,  woman,  nor  child  in 
the  village  of  Micklefield,  to  whom  his  visits  were  not  exceedingly 
agreeable.  He  drank  and  talked  politics  with  the  men ;  chatted 
with  the  women  about  their  dairies  and  poultry-yards  ;  and  never 
failed  to  carry  in  his  pockets  an  adequate  supply  of  gingerbread  and 
candy  for  the  children.  He  was  the  man  of  the  people.  He  insti 
tuted  no  uncomfortable  espionage,  touching  their  lack  of  spiritual 
graces ;  and,  so  far  as  it  was  in  his  gift,  he  gave  them  heaven, 
pretty  much  upon  their  own  terms.  He  died  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty-eight,  having  been  their  pastor  for  seven  years.  There  was  but 
one  opinion  of  his  virtues,  and  all  were  perfectly  agreed  in  the  pro 
nunciation  of  the  sententious  and  significant  eulogium,  that  Parson 
Southerly  was  a  '  raal,  nice  man.''  Had  he  lived,  at  the  present 
time,  he  would  have  been  called  an  intemperate  man  ;  yet,  in  his 
day,  such  an  imputation  would  have  been  unpardonable  slander.  A 
post  mortem  examination  of  the  body,  in  connection  with  his  well- 
known  habits,  readily  settled  the  question  as  to  the  cause  of  his 
decease.  Instead  of  charging  his  death  to  intemperance,  however, 
it  was  simply  proclaimed,  that  his  internal  organization  was  not 
strong  enough  to  sustain  life.  The  prolongation  of  existence,  in 
those  days,  was  a  more  difficult  affair,  than  it  is  at  present.  The 
terms  of  social  intercourse  were  then  well  understood.  It  was  no 
easy  matter,  to  live  in  society  and  yet  violate  its  lavis.  While 
many  were  allured  by  the  love  of  intoxicating  liquor,  ethers  were 
compelled  by  the  fear  of  ridicule.  That  measure  of  indulgence, 
which,  in  our  auspicious  era,  would  certainly  be  called  hard  drink 


108  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

ing,  was  then  accounted  by  many,  one  of  the  conditions  of  exis 
tence  in  the  social  state.  Millions,  whom  we  should  now  consider 
grossly  intemperate,  ha"e  been  committed  to  their  graves,  without 
a  whisper  of  reproach,  without  a  suspicion  of  error  or  impropriety  in 
regard  to  their  habits  of  life. 

"  For  several  months  after  my  settlement  at  Micklefield,  I  heard 
little  beside  the  praises  of  the  late  Mr.  Southerly.  My  spirits  were 
often  depressed,  by  the  ejaculations  of  the  good  wives,  at  every  visi 
tation. —  'There  never  was  anything  like  dear  Mr.  Southerly.'  — 
'  We  shall  never  be  able  to  supply  poor  Mr.  Southerly 's  loss.'  — 
'O,  Mr.  Meredith,  you  don't  know  what  a  dear,  cheerful  soul,  Mr. 
Southerly  was.'  — '  Don't  mind  Tommy's  running  his  hands  in  your 
pockets,  Mr.  Meredith  ;  he  thinks  it 's  Mr.  Southerly,  who  always 
brought  him  gingerbread  ;  blessed  man,  we  never  shall  make  his 
place  good.' 

"  Nevertheless  I  exerted  my  abilities  to  the  utmost.  I  was  de 
termined  to  please  the  people,  and  I  did  not  perceive,  that  my  quali 
fications  were  inferior  to  those  of  my  highly-favored  predecessor 
I  resolved  to  walk  in  his  steps  as  closely  as  possible.  I  was  par 
ticularly  attentive  to  the  females  of  my  parish  ;  and,  as  I  had  the 
advantage  over  my  predecessor,  in  youth  and  personal  appearance, 
I  flattered  myself,  that  I  should  obtain  their  suffrages  at  least.  1 
chatted  sociably  with  the  men,  and  tasted  their  flip  and  toddy,  which, 
by  the  way,  at  that  time,  were  never  agreeable  to  me.  I  also  laid 
in  a  respectable  stock  of  gingerbread  and  candy.  Thus  provided,  I 
commenced  my  parochial  career,  resolved  to  equal,  and  hoping  to 
surpass,  my  great  exemplar,  the  Reverend  Hallowell  Southerly.  I 
blush  to  think  how  small  a  portion  of  my  thoughts  were  bestowed 
upon  the  spiritual  occasions  of  my  people.  I  trust  God  has  forgiven 
me,  and  that  the  devotion  of  my  life,  for  the  last  twenty  years,  to 
his  service,  will  be  suffered  to  outweigh  my  previous  delinquency. 

"  The  hardest  day's  duty,  which  I  have  ever  performed,  was  the 
first  of  my  parochial  visitation  in  the  parish  of  Micklefield.  My 
parishioners  were  scattered  broadcast  over  the  village.  It  was  my 
intention  to  call  on  every  family  ;  and  I  was  desirous,  that  I  might 
avoid  the  appearance  of  individual  neglect,  to  compress  my  visita 
tions  within  as  little  time  as  possible.  I  marked  down  five  and 
twenty  visits  for  the  morning.  At  the  very  first  house,  at  which  I 
called,  though  it  was  quite  early  in  the  day,  I  was  scarcely  seated, 
before  the  brandy-bottle  was  produced.  In  my  peculiar  situation, 
my  reputation  at  stake,  and  the  example  of  the  Reverend  Hallowell 
Southerly  before  me,  it  would  have  been  madness  to  refuse.  I 
accordingly  swallowed  my  first  pastoral  dram,  and  had  the  satisfac- 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  109 

tion  to  perceive,  that  I  had  made  a  favorable  impression.  As  1  rose 
to  go,  I  put  into  Mrs.  Mullikin's  hands  a  few  sticks  of  candy,  and 
begged  her  to  give  them  to  her  children.  I  was  a  little  embarrassed 
by  the  good  woman's  tittering  laugh,  as  she  informed  me,  that  they 
had  been  married  nine  years,  without  any  prospect  of  an  heir.  When 
I  had  gotten  half  through  my  allotted  task,  I  began  to  feel  some 
doubts  of  my  ability  to  persevere.  I  had  stopped  at  the  house  of  a 
Widow  Bloomfield,  having  then  made  thirteen  pastoral  visits,  and 
drunken  the  same  number  of  drams.  The  poor  widow,  who  was  in 
a  very  humble  condition  of  life,  had  set  upon  the  table  a  common 
black  bottle  of  New  England  rum,  with  a  broken  sugar-bowl,  con 
taining  a  little  brown  sweetening,  and  an  iron  spoon.  I  thought  I 
might  venture  to  refuse,  without  giving  offence.  '  Had  n't  you 
better?'  said  she,  with  a  half-inquiring,  half-mortified  expression. — 
'  No,  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Bloomfield,'  said  I,  '  I  have  no  occasion.' 

—  '  I  saw  you  come  out  of  Squire  Hodgedon's,'  said  she  ;  '  I  guess 
you  got  some  Jamaica  at  the  Squire's,  didn't  you,  Mr.  Meredith1?' 

—  'Yes,'  I  replied,  'I  took  a  little.'  —  'I  thought  so,'  said  she; 
*  lack-a-day  !  how  this  world  goes  by  favor !     Mr.  Bloomfield  was 
well  on  't  once  himself,  and  we  used  to  keep  a  leetle  o'  the  West 
India  just  to  treat  with.     But  —  ah  dear  me !  —  a  poor  lone  woman  's 
got  no  better  than  her  best.     Did  you  know  Mr.  Southerly  1'  — '  I 
never  saw  him,'  said  I.  — '  Well,  I  spose  not,'  she  replied  ;  '  he  was 
a  saint  upon  earth  ;  he  used  to  say,  the  Lord  was  no  respecter  of 
persons,  and  no  more  was  n't  he  ;  and  then  he  'd  take  and  pour  out 
half  a  tumbler  out  o'  that  are  vary  black  bottle,  as  sociable  as  ever 
vou  see.'  — '  Well,  well,  Mrs.  Bloomfield,'  said  I,  '  it  was  not  from 
any  disrespect,  and  I  '11  take  a  little  of  your  spirit  with  pleasure. '     I 
accordingly,  inexpressibly  against  my  feelings,  swallowed  my  four 
teenth  dram.  — '  There,' cried  the  poor  woman,  'now  I'll  come 
and  hear  you  preach  ;  but  if  you  hadn't  done  the  civil  thing,  you 
wouldn't  ha'  cotched  me  inside  your  meeting-house,  I  tell  ye.' 

"  My  next  call  was  at  the  house  of  Farmer  Kidder.  He  was  an 
old  man,  and  the  richest  farmer  in  the  county.  In  rustic  phrase 
ology,  they  were  excellent  livers,  — those  that  survived,  —  three  of 
the  old  man's  sons  had  died  intemperate,  within  the  four  years  pre- 
ce(  ing.  I  had  scarcely  entered  their  bettermost  room,  when  the 
ol(,  lady  came  hobbling  towards  me,  holding  a  pitcher,  smoking  hot. 

—  '  We  seed  you,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  she,  '  as  you  was  a  going 
ir...o  the  widow  Bloomfield's,  and  we  knew  you  'd  give  us  a  call ;  so 
I  said  to  the  galls,  says  I, — Galls,  roast  a  couple  o'  the  best  Bald 
wins,  galls,  and  clap  in  the  poker,  for  he  '11  be  here  in  a  jiffy.    You 
got  pretty  streaked  stuff,  I  guess,  at  the  poor  widow 'B  ;  howaome*- 

rbi.  u  l6 


110  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

ever,  she 's  a  gin'rous  old  soul,  what  there  is  of  her,  and  she  '11  gi»c 
ye  the  best  she  's  got,  any  how.  There,  Mr.  Meredith,  taste  o'  this 
here  apple-toddy.'  —  She  poured  out  a  full  tumbler.  I  felt  myself 
excessively  dizzy  and  confused,  and  was  sensible  already,  that  I  had 
lost  the  power  of  distinct  articulation,  yet  I  dared  not  refuse,  at  thn 
house  of  one  of  my  wealthiest  parishioners.  The  toddy  was  excel 
lent.  I  said  so,  cautiously  avoiding  long  words,  and  fixing  my  eyes 
upon  a  particular  object  to  keep  my  head  from  swimming.  The  old 
lady  was  in  raptures,  and  poured  out  a  second  tumbler.  I  signified 
my  reluctance,  by  an  uplifted  hand  and  a  shake  of  the  head.  She 
persisted  however,  and  her  daughters  were  importunate.  '  O,  Mr. 
Meredith,'  cried  the  old  woman,  *  dear  good  Mr.  Southerly  always 
took  two.  He  used  to  say,  if  the  first  made  him  feel  a  leetle  queer- 
ish,  the  second  sobered  him  again.  A  hair  o'  the  same  dog,  you 
know,  Mr.  Meredith.' — For  an  instant,  it  occurred  to  me,  that  1 
was  already  drunk,  —  that  the  old  woman  and  her  daughters  had 
discovered  my  situation,  and  were  making  themselves  merry  at  my 
expense.  I  felt  the  blood  rushing  to  my  forehead.  —  A  hasty  glance 
at  the  trio  reassured  me,  however,  in  a  moment.  Though  I  was 
then  unquestionably  the  worse  for  liquor,  they  were  either  uncon 
scious  or  regardless  of  a  matter,  so  exceedingly  familiar  to  them  all. 
and  continued  to  press  their  civility,  until  their  tipsy  minister  had 
swallowed  the  second  potation  of  apple-toddy. 

"  When  I  regained  the  road,  I  resolved  to  get  home  as  soon  as 
possible.  Ten  of  my  destined  visitations  were  unperformed.  In  a 
few  hours,  including  my  two  tumblers  of  apple-toddy,  I  had  taken 
sixteen  drams,  and  was  fully  sensible,  that  I  was  shamefully  drunk. 
I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  centre  of  the  road,  and  walked  rapidly, 
occasionally  running  a  rod  or  two,  when  I  felt  myself  inclining  to 
stagger.  In  this  manner  I  had  nearly  reached  my  lodgings,  when 
Deacon  Anthony  ran  out  from  his  house  to  speak  with  me.  He 
urged  me  to  stop,  but  I  told  him,  that  I  was  troubled  with  sickness 
at  the  stomach.  — '  It 's  a  sharp  morning,'  said  he,  '  and  you  '11  be 
better,  if  you  step  in  and  take  a  glass  of  brandy  or  some  bitters.'  I 
positively  declined,  however,  and,  hastening  home,  repaired  to  my 
chamber,  — locked  the  door,  —  and  threw  myself  upon  my  bed 

"  My  landlady  was  a  kind-hearted  widow,  between  fifty  and  sixty 
«f,ars  of  age.  She  had  the  reputation  of  sincerity  and  discretion 
J  became  excessively  sick,  and  my  desire  for  some  species  of  relief 
finally  surmounted  my  reluctance  to  make  a  full  confession  of  my 
shame  and  folly.  —  I  requested  my  landlady  to  step  into  my  cham 
ber,  and,  with  very  considerable  stammering  and  circumlocution, 
made  a  clean  breast  before  this  tr.Jy  catholic  confessor,  —  wha 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  II  . 

laughed  heartily  at  my  confusion.  *  Bless  you,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said 
she,  *  what  a  terrible  fuss  you  have  made  about  just  nothing  at  ail. 
Why,  I  certainly  thought  you  was  going  to  tell  me  you  was  in  debt, 
or  in  iove,  or  something  of  that  sort.  You  must  have  some  boiling 
hot  coffee  and  buttered  toast.  That 's  what  I  used  to  get  always 
for  Mr.  Southerly.  He  boarded  with  me  two  years,  when  he  was 
first  settled.  He  was  corned  twenty  times,  before  he  got  seasoned. 
You  '11  get  used  to  it,  one  of  these  days,  Mr.  Meredith,  just  as  Mr. 
Southerly  did.' — From  that  time,  I  conceived  a  very  high  opinion 
of  my  landlady  ;  her  coffee  and  buttered  toast  relieved  my  body  of 
no  small  portion  of  its  torment,  and  the  very  philosophical  view, 
which  she  had  taken  of  the  whole  affair,  afforded  unspeakable  com 
fort  to  my  mind  There  can  be  no  more  perfect  illustration  of  the 
imperfection  of  my  own  moral  sense,  nor  of  the  weakness  of  my 
own  principles,  at  that  period  of  my  life. 

"  Upon  the  following  morning,  I  was  sufficiently  recovered,  to 
resume  the  performance  of  my  parochial  duties.  Experience,  how 
ever,  had  taught  me  to  husband  my  energies  ;  I  soon  found,  that  1 
could  bear  half  a  dozen  drams,  of  a  morning,  exceedingly  well,  and 
I  limited  my  pastoral  visits  accordingly.  In  the  course  of  three  or 
four  months,  I  had  become  perfectly  familiar  with  the  duties  of  my 
vocation,  as  I  then  understood  them  ;  and  that  frequent  use  of  stimu 
lants,  which  had  been  decidedly  disagreeable  in  the  commencement 
of  my  pastoral  career,  in  less  than  six  months,  became  not  only 
agreeable,  but  even  essential,  as  I  then  imagined,  to  my  health  and 
comfort.  At  ordinations,  funerals,  and  weddings,  I  fully  sustained 
my  character,  as  a  worthy  successor  of  the  Reverend  Hallowell 
Southerly. 

"  He,  who  has  taken  the  king's  bounty,  saith  the  proverb,  must 
stand  by  the  monarch  and  his  cause.  I  had  so  far  sanctioned  the 
habits  of  my  parishioners,  by  my  own  practical  acquiescence,  that,  if 
I  had  been  willing  to  admonish,  the  language  of  reproof  would  have 
come  with  an  ill  grace  from  their  pastor.  Words  of  sage  counsel 
fall  but  with  feeble  power  upon  a  drunkard's  ear,  from  alcoholic 
lips.  Of  all  the  follies  and  vices,  which  came  to  my  knowledge, 
intemperance  and  its  manifold  effects  were  the  last,  which  I  felt 
myself  at  liber</  to  rebuke.  During  the  first  four  years  of  my  min 
istry,  many  drunkards  paid  the  debt  of  nature  in  the  Tillage  ol 
Mickl  -jfield;  and  I  doubt,  if  there  be  a  place  of  sepulture  upon 
earth,  containing  an  equal  congregation  of  the  dead,  whence  a 
greater  number  will  arise,  in  the  day  of  the  resurrection,  from  t.ie 
drunkard's  grave. 

"  During  these  three  or  four  yeaas,  I  do  not  deny,  that  1  had 


112  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

many  compunctious  visitations  of  conscience.  The  weight  of  my 
responsibility  occasionally  became  oppressive;  and,  more  than  once, 
I  resolved  to  abandon  my  faithless  stewardship,  and  w.n  my  bread, 
in  some  humbler  vocation.  I  think  I  should  nave  done  so,  if  the 
intercessions. of  Deacon  Anthony  had  not  prevailed  against  my  judg 
ment  at  that  time.  The  deacon  was  an  excellent  man  ;  but,  accor 
ding  to  the  universal  practice  of  the  age,  he  used  brandy,  as  a 
common  beverage.  He  candidly  declared  to  me,  that  it  was  a  great 
help  to  him  in  prayer  and  exhortation.  I  told  him,  that  I  had 
sometimes  been  pricked  with  a  conviction,  that  I  was  an  unfr.itb.ful 
steward ;  that  I  beheld  drunkards  dying  all  around  me ;  that, 
although  there  was  a  great  amount  of  drunkenness  in  almost  every 
other  village,  Micklefield  had  become  a  by- word ;  that,  when  I  first 
became  its  minister,  I  was  temperate,  and  even  abstemious ;  but 
now,  I  had  so  fallen  under  the  influence  of  the  social  rule,  that  I 
often  felt  myself  the  worse  for  liquor  ;  and  that  I  thought  it  my  duty 
to  ask  a  dismission.  — I  must  honestly  admit,  that,  while  the  lady 
was  relating  her  narrative  of  the  unfortunate  Mr.  Pottle,  my 
thoughts  were  repeatedly  carried  back  to  the  first  four  years  of  my 
ministry  in  Micklefield.  —  Deacon  Anthony  begged  me  not  to  think 
of  a  separation.  He  assured  me,  that  I  was  quite  as  popular  as  Mr. 
Southerly  had  been,  in  his  very  best  days  ;  that  the  people  were  not 
worse  than  they  had  been,  at  that  time  ;  that  spirit,  though  a  good 
thing,  and  one  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  would,  like  other  good 
things,  be  abused  by  some  people  of  course  ;  that  there  had  always 
been  about' seventy  or  eighty  common  drunkards  in  Micklefield,  for 
forty  years,  ever  since  he  had  kept  shop,  and  that  the  population 
had  remained  about  the  same ;  that  it  did  not  seem  to  him  that 
seventy  drunkards  in  a  population  of  seven  hundred  were  more  than 
might  be  expected  ;  that,  whether  I  staid  or  went,  things  would 
go  on  much  after  the  old  sort ;  and  that  the  people  would  make  the 
parish  too  hot  for  any  minister,  that  drew  the  cord  too  tight  for 
them.  I  told  the  deacon,  that  there  was  a  great  amount  of  intem 
perance  in  Micklefield,  among  those,  who  would  never  be  accounted 
common  drunkards ;  that  I  should  be  unwilling  to  be  ranked  in  that 
class  myself;  but  that  I  was  convinced  my  habits  had  already 
injured  my  health  and  diminished  my  usefulness.  The  deacon 
smiled,  and  told  me  I  was  apt  to  be  low-spirited ;  and,  with  such  a 
patronizing  and  confident  expression,  poured  out  and  handed  me  a 
glass  of  bitters,  that  I  swallowed  the  prescription,  half  satisfied  that 
my  opinions  were  vain  imaginations  after  all,  possibly  the  result  of 
hypochondriasis. 

"  Upon  one  point  I  could  not  be  deceived  :  I  had  lost  my  appetite 


THE  STAGE- JOACH.  113 

and  strength ;  my  slumbers  were  broken  and  unrefreshing ;  pains  in 
the  head,  stomach,  and  bowels  tormented  me  with  little  interrup 
tion  ;  and  my  craving  for  strong  drink  became  more  troublesome  and 
uncontrollable. 

"  Shortly  after  I  had  made  a  statement  of  my  views  and  feelings 
to  Deacon  Anthony,  I  was  called  to  administer  Christian  consolation 
to  a  parishioner,  who  was  upon  her  death-bed.  Mrs.  Kidder  had 
buried  her  husband  about  eight  months  before.  He  was  a  very 
respectable  drunkard.  I  mean  to  say,  that,  for  some  years  before 
his  death,  he  was  careful  never  to  appear  abroad,  when  he  was  the 
worse  for  liquor.  He  never  frequented  the  dram-shops  of  the  vil 
lage  ;  but,  being  a  wealthy  farmer,  his  house  was  most  hospitably 
stored  with  the  means  of  indulgence,  and  he  confined  his  operations 
to  the  bosom  of  his  family.  His  widow  was  now  about  to  be  called 
from  this  world.  Her  death  was  a  hard  one.  She  dreaded  to  die, 
or  rather  her  agonized  spirit  longed  to  live.  Our  miserable  relation 
to  each  other  had  poorly  qualified  me  for  the  office  of  counsellor,  in 
such  an  hour  as  this.  I  have  never  felt  my  sinful  deficiency  more 
sensibly  than  upon  this  occasion.  It  was  an  awful  trial.  When  I 
entered,  Dr.  Snuffler,  the  physician  of  Micklefield,  was  present,  and 
no  other  person,  excepting  the  old  lady's  daughters.  Her  mind  was 
highly  excited,  partly  by  bodily  pain,  partly  by  the  dread  of  dissolu 
tion,  and  partly  by  liquor.  I  felt  myself  exceedingly  embarrassed 
in  the  performance  of  my  duty.  The  familiar,  and  even  undignified, 
intercourse,  which  was  an  unavoidable  consequence  of  the  dram- 
drinking  habits  of  the  times,  not  only  deprived  the  present  occasion 
of  its  solemnity,  but  filled  the  principal  performer  with  a  sense  of 
unseasonable  diffidence  and  shame.  — 'Dear  Dr.  Snuffler,'  said  the 
poor  victim,  as  I  drew  near  the  bed,  '  I  won't  die.'  — '  Well,  well,' 
said  the  doctor,  '  we  '11  see  about  it ;  naybe  you  won't.'  —  *  I  tell 
you  I  won't  die,'  she  replied.  —  '  The  old  lady  's  pretty  much  lost 
her  mind,'  said  the  doctor.  —  '  No  such  thing,'  said  she  ;  '  I  tell  you 
I  won't  die  —  I  won't.'  — '  Mrs.  Kidder,'  said  the  doctor,  *  here  's 
Mr.  Meredith  come  to  make  a  prayer.'  —  *  I  won't  have  no  prayer,' 
said  she ;  '  I  '11  have  some  more  apple-toddy.'  — '  She  's  had  four 
tumblers  this  forenoon,'  said  one  of  the  daughters.  — '  Never  mind,' 
said  the  doctor,  '  it  '11  make  no  difference ;  give  her  another,  and 
she  '11  lay  quieter  during  the  prayer.'  In  such  a  condition  of  things, 
I  attempted  to  pray,  the  old  lady  interrupting  me  continually  with 
cries  for  apple-toddy,  and  declarations  that  she  would  not  die.  —  I 
resumed  my  seat.  —  The  sweat  stood  in  big  drops  upon  my  brow. 
— '  You  are  not  well  yourself,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  the  doctor,  as  he 
felt  my  pulse. — I  made  no  reply.  —  My  spirit  had  never  been  M 

VOL.  n.  10* 


114  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

exercised  before.  As  I  prayed,  the  thought  o\erpowered  me,  that 
I  had  been  nearly  four  years  tl  e  pastor  of  this  dying,  impenitent 
sinner,  and  that  I  had  done  literally  —  absolutely  —  nothing,  for  the 
salvation  of  her  soul.  —  I  almost  fancied  myself  at  the  bar  of  God, 
holding  in  my  trembling  hand  the  barren  record  of  my  miserable 
stewardship. — The  doctor's  attention  was  soon  called  to  the  dying 
woman.  —  *  She  is  going,'  said  he,  —  '  see,  how  she  catches  at  the 
bed-clothes!'  Amidst  the  sound  of  the  death-rattle  in  her  throat, 
though  more  and  more  faintly,  she  continued  to  exclaim,  '  I  won't 
—  I  won't.'  —  The  ruling  passion  was  still  strong  in  death,  — for 
the  very  last  words  that  I  heard  were  — '  apple-toddy.'  —  One  strong 
convulsion  closed  the  scene. 

"  I  returned  to  my  lodgings  in  a  state  of  great  mental  depression. 
The  exertions  of  my  well-meaning  landlady  to  raise  my  spirits  were 
ineffectual.  I  passed  a  restless  night,  and  the  next  morning  was 
unable  to  rise  from  my  bed.  My  habits  had  undoubtedly  affected 
my  general  health.  Dr.  Snuffler  was  called  in,  and  stated  that  my 
symptoms  were  such  as  commonly  preceded  a  typhus  fever.  His 
prognostications  were  correct.  For  seven  weeks,  I  was  confined  to 
my  chamber  ;  and,  during  a  considerable  portion  of  that  time,  I  was 
delirious.  When,  at  length,  it  pleased  God  to  restore  my  reason, 
the  first  object,  which  engrossed  my  attention,  was  a  young  man, 
about  four  and  twenty  years  of  age,  who  was  sitting  by  my  bed 
side,  and  holding  my  hand.  I  gazed  intently  upon  his  features  ;  — 
they  were  those  of  an  utter  stranger.  I  had  never  beheld  an  expres 
sion  more  perfectly  gentle  and  serene.  — '  I  have  been  wild  and 
wandering,'  said  I.  —  The  stranger  made  no  answer  to  my  remark, 
but  eyed  me  with  a  look  of  doubtful  scrutiny,  as  one  who  still  ques 
tioned  the  perfect  restoration  of  my  reason.  — '  To  whom,'  said  I 
am  I  indebted,  for  these  kind  attentions?'  —  '  My  name  is  Ander- 
»on,'  he  replied.  '  I  have  supplied  your  pulpit  for  the  last  two 
Sabbaths.'  —  'Ah,  my  friend,'  said  I,  '  if  you  have  told  my  people 
the  whole  truth,  you  have  told  them  that,  which  they  have  neveT 
heard  from  their  unworthy  pastor.'  —  His  countenance  became  sud 
denly  grave,  and  even  austere.  —  'Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he,  'you 
are  too  feeble  for  this  topic  at  present.  You  have  been  very  ill ; 
you  have  been  in  peril ;  your  life  has  been  despaired  of.  I  have 
knelt  daily  at  your  bed-side  ;  will  it  not  soothe  your  spirit,  to  have 
me  offer  thanksgiving  for  the  restoration  of  your  reason?'  — '  O, 
yes,  my  friend,'  said  I ;  —  'but  stay,  —  I  have  been  a  faithless  shop- 
herd,  for  more  than  three  years,  and  have  not  fed  the  sheep,  that 
have  been  committed  to  my  care.  This  awful  consciousness  has 
aggravated  my  distemper.'  — '  It  has  been  the  subject  of  your  imx>- 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  115 

herent  prayers,  and  wild  ejaculations,  during  your  illness,'  said  he. 
— '  I  have  vowed,  if  the  Lord  should  spare  me  '  continued  I,  '  to 
lead  a  new  life,  and  to  serve  God,  and  not  Baa. ;  pray,  I  beseech 
you,  that  I  may  have  the  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  that  I 
may  keep  this  vow  to  the  end.'  —  He  dropped  upon  his  knees; 
and,  by  the  zeal  and  energy  of  his  supplication,  this  young  man 
filled  my  heart  with  the  pure  spirit  of  devotion,  and  my  eyes  with 
tears. 

"  My  recovery  was  rapid.  I  did  not  see  my  friend  Andersor 
again,  until  he  came  to  preach  at  Micklefield,  on  the  followirg 
Sabbath.  He  passed  the  evening  of  that  day  in  my  chamber.  I 
again  told  him,  that  I  had  been  an  unfaithful  shepherd.  After  i 
brief  pause,  during  which,  he  became  exceedingly  solemnized,  '  You 
have  recovered  your  strength  surprisingly,'  said  he,  '  since  I  saw 
you  last ;  and  I  think  we  may  now  safely  converse  upon  this  subject, 
if  it  be  your  will.'  I  assured  him  it  would  give  me  pleasure,  to 
open  my  whole  heart  to  any  faithful  disciple,  and  that  I  knew  I 
should  gather  strength  of  purpose,  by  a  community  of  counsel  and 
of  prayer.  —  'I  have  been  unfaithful  to  my  trust,'  said  I,  'but  I 
have  vowed  before  God,  to  be  so  no  more.  The  fixed  purpose  of 
my  soul  is  to  keep  this  vow ;  and  I  impute  my  advance  in  health 
and  strength,  to  that  condition  of  mind,  in  which  I  have  been, 
ever  since  I  recovered  the  use  of  my  reason.  I  can  now  say, 
that  my  heart  is  fixed.  If  I  can  get  into  my  pulpit  again,  I  will  do 
my  duty,  which  I  have  left  undone,  between  three  and  four  years. 
I  have  been  somewhat  surprised  at  the  inattention  of  my  parishioners 
during  my  illness.  —  Yet  why  should  I  be  surprised  at  their  neglect 
of  me,  who  have  so  sadly  neglected  them?  Four  days  have  gone 
by,  since  any  one  of  them  came  near  me,  excepting  my  landlady ; 
then  Deacon  Anthony  called ;  and,  when  I  told  him  frankly  my 
opinion  of  myself,  he  replied,  that  I  was  weak  in  body  and  mind, 
and  that  I  should  feel  very  differently,  when  I  came  to  move  about 
and  take  a  little  meat  and  drink.  When  I  told  him,  however,  that  1 
intended  to  preach  the  whole  truth,  he  interrupted  me  rather  fretfully, 
and  observed  that  it  never  would  answer  to  preach  the  whole  truth 
in  Micklefield  ;  and  that,  if  my  salary  were  of  any  importance,  I  had 
better  look  before  I  leaped.  I  told  him  with  great  firmness,  that  I 
should  leap  nowhere  but  into  the  Lord's  arms,  and  that  I  should 
not  look  to  see  what  man  could  do  unto  me.  He  said,  that  I  should 
only  throw  the  parish  into  confusion  ;  and,  taking  his  hat,  remarked, 
as  he  left  the  room,  that  he  was  sorry  I  had  gotten  such  new-light 
notions  in  my  head.'  — '  My  friend,'  said  Mr.  Anderson,  '  I  have 
just  now  parted  with  the  deacon,  who  made  almost  the  same  obser- 


116  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

vation  to  me,  when  describing  your  state  of  mind.  I  am  rejoiced 
to  find  you  are  still  resolved  to  atone  for  your  errors.  Though  I 
am  younger  than  you,  it  is  my  duty  to  speak  frankly  to  my  brother. 
I  cannot  doubt  the  truth  of  all  that  you  so  freely  admit.  During 
the  time  that  I  have  been  among  your  people,  I  have  had  sufficient 
opportunity  to  judge  of  the  relation,  in  which  you  stand  to  each 
other.  They  have  all  the  marks  and  numbers  of  a  people,  whose 
spiritual  welfare  has  been  neglected.  Observe  their  conduct  in 
regard  to  their  sick,  and,  as  many  of  them  have  supposed,  their 
dying  pastor.  They  have  already  negotiated  to  supply  your  place ; 
and,  when  it  was  thought  you  could  not  survive,  Deacon  Anthony 
inquired  of  me,  on  what  terms  I  should  be  willing  to  become  the 
pastor  of  Micklefield.  I  had  never  preached  in  your  pulpit,  at  that 
time.  He  observed,  that  the  people  were  poor,  and  could  pay  but 
little ;  yet  he  thought,  as  I  was  quite  a  young  man,  I  should  like 
the  chance,  and  might  be  willing  to  work  cheap.  I  told  him,  that 
I  desired  to  labor  in  the  Lord's  vineyard,  but  could  listen  to  no 
proposals,  under  such  circumstances  ;  I  agreed,  however,  to  supply 
the  pulpit.  I  preached  the  first  Sabbath,  to  a  most  inattentive  and 
disorderly  congregation.  When  I  came  again,  I  dined  at  his  house  ; 
and  he  observed  to  me,  that  it  had  got  about  in  the  parish,  that  ] 
vvas  opposed  to  the  use  of  spirit.  I  replied,  that  I  never  made  use 
of  it  myself,  and  was  of  opinion,  that  it  was  frequently  injurious  to 
others.  He  made  no  further  remark.  When  I  was  getting  into 
my  chaise,  to  leave  Micklefield,  after  the  afternoon  service,  "  Mr. 
Anderson,"  said  he,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  suppose  I  had  any 
authority  for  what  I  said  to  you,  about  settling  in  our  village,  in 
case  Mr.  Meredith  should  die.  It  was  only  a  notion  of  my  own ; 
and,  if  so  be  he  shouldn't  get  through,  it's  like  as  not  we 
mightn't  settle  anybody  right  away." — I  do  not  wish  to  wound 
your  feelings,'  continued  Mr.  Anderson,  as  he  kindly  took  my  hand, 
'  but  I  think  it  my  duty  to  give  you  some  idea  of  the  manner,  in 
which  a  neglected,  misguided  people  deliver  their  sentiments  of 
their  pastor.  Last  Sabbath,  as  no  provision  was  made  for  my 
accommodation  elsewhere,  I  dined  at  the  public  house.  The  tavern 
was  literally  crammed,  during  the  intermission,  and  the  calls  for 
every  variety  of  stimulant,  afforded  abundant  employment,  for  the 
inn-keeper  and  his  two  sons.  The  congregation  was  scarcely 
dismissed,  when  a  sort  of  trade-wind  seemed  to  waft  them  all, 
excepting  a  few,  who  resided  near  the  meeting-house,  directly  to 
the  tavern.  The  day  was  rather  warm,  and  the  host  and  his  two 
eons,  instantly  throwing  off  their  coats,  prepared  for  a  regular  stir- 
up.  They  had  tl  eir  hands  full.  More  than  one  stepped  into  the 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  117 

apartment,  ia  which  I  sat,  and  tendered  a  portion  of  his  tc  ddy ;  and 
such  are  the  times,  on  which  we  have  fallen  that  my  refusal 
though  couched  in  civil  terms,  was  evidently  offensive.  In  the 
afternoon,  I  preached  an  unusually  solemn  discourse,  on  timely 
repentance ;  and  its  operation  was  by  no  means  such  as  I  desired. 
I  was  grieved  and  surprised,  as  I  occasionally  cast  my  eyes  around 
upon  the  people,  to  witness  the  unchristian  effect,  produced  by  my 
sermon.  It  was  a  warm  day,  as  I  have  remarked,  and  several  were 
nodding ;  others  sat,  with  their  heads  thrown  back  upon  the  rails 
of  their  pews,  and  their  mouths  wide  open,  in  profound  slumber. 
One  elderly  person,  in  the  north-easterly  corner  pew,  snored  aloud, 
and  the  young  people  had  so  little  restraining  grace,  that  they 
tittered  and  giggled  outright ;  and  a  tall,  round-shouldered  young 
woman,  about  eighteen  years  of  age,  stuffed  her  handkerchief  into 
her  mouth,  and  ran  out  of  the  meeting-house.  Those,  who  kept 
themselves  awake,  looked  excessively  angry,  and  even  ready  to 
fight ;  so  unwilling  were  they  to  hear  of  their  sinfulness,  of  the 
necessity  of  repentance,  of  the  certainty  of  death,  and  of  the  final 
judgment.  —  I  went  to  the  tavern  for  my  horse  and  chaise  ;  a  con 
siderable  number  of  persons  had  arrived  there  before  me.  I  waited 
in  the  porch,  while  my  vehicle  was  getting  ready.  For  a  short 
time  sullen  silence  prevailed  among  the  group,  that  was  gathered 
in  the  adjoining  bar-room.  The  host  and  his  two  sons  were  again 
as  busily  occupied  as  ever.  Significant  glances,  shrugs,  winks 
and  looks  of  mock  solemnity,  were  exchanged,  whose  reference  ti 
me  was  perfectly  intelligible.  —  "  Hot  weather  out  o' doors."  said 
one.  —  "  Tarnal  hot  in  the  meet'n'us  this  art'noon,"  cried  another 
—  This  produced  a  peal  of  laughter.  —  "  How  's  Meredith  a  coming 
on?"  inquired  a  third.  —  "That  are's  the  man  I  likes  to  hear," 
said  a  miserable  object,  evidently  grossly  intemperate,  and  whom 
I  recognized  as  one  of  those,  whose  proffered  toddy  I  had  rejected, 

during  the  intermission.     "Meredith's  the  right  sort  of  a a 

leetil  more  sweet'nin,  if  you  please  —  the  right  sort  of  a  Christian. 
He  gives  ye  raal,  ginivine  liberal  sarments.  He 's  none  o'  your 
hell-fire  folks,  not  he  ;  and  that  aan't  all.  —  Meredith's  a  gentleman, 
every  inch  on  him ;  you  won't  catch  him  a  refusing  a  poor  man's 
toddy,  no  time  o'  day."  —  "  Is  Meredith  a  going  to  get  well?"  said 
the  first  speaker,  "or  will  he  kick  the  bucket,  eh?"  —  "I  don 
know,"  replied  the  person  addressed;  "how's  rye  now?"  — 
"Pretty  fair,  the  very  best  kind,"  replied  the  other;  *  leil  us, 
though,  if  you  know  anything  about  it,  is  he  raal  sick,  or  a  piaying 
the  old  sojer  —  don't  want  to  preach,  maybe  —  eh?"  —  "No,  I 
guess  'tis  n't  that,"  said  the  person  inquired  of;  "Mery's  pretty 


118  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

much  stunted,  I  reckon.  He  was  taken  down  the  very  day  Widow 
Kidder  died.  The;y  say,  he  took  the  old  woman's  death  propel 
hard."  —  "  Well,"  cried  another,  "  'twas  a  great  loss  to  him,  there 
isn't  her  match  for  apple  toddy  in  our  county.  My  stars,  what 
metheglin  the  old  lady  used  to  make !  Here  comes  the  doctor ; 
he  '11  tell  us  all  about  it.  — Doctor,  how  's  our  minister  getting  on?" 
—  "Very  cleverly,"  said  the  doctor;  "he'll  be  out  again  afore 
long.  He  has  a  better  constitution  than  poor  Southerly  had,  and 
can  stand  spirit  a  good  deal  longer,  but  it  affects  his  head,  ami 
queenfies  him  quicker.  He  's  a  clever  fellow,  and  I  shall  do  my 
best  to  get  him  on  his  legs  again."  —  "  That 's  you,  doctor,"  cried 
the  poor,  feeble  wretch,  who  was  angry  with  me  for  refusing  his 
toddy ;  "  gi'  me  Bill  Meredith  for  my  minister,  afore  all  your  canting 
orthodox  hypocrites.  He  's  the  pleasantest  and  the  sociablest  min 
ister  ever  I  see  ;  I  won't  except  Southerly.  Bless  my  body,  how 
funny  he  does  make  town-meeting !  My  old  woman  says  she 
doesn't  want  to  hear  much  about  t'other  world,  when  she  can  get 
him  to  crack  his  jokes,  and  tell  cozy  stories  about  this."  ' 

"Mr.  Anderson  paused,  and  looked  me  steadily  in  the  face. — 
'  My  friend,'  said  I,  after  a  brief  pause,  '  your  remarks  cut  me  to 
the  soul ;  but  I  deserve  them  all,  and  many  more.  If  the  Lord  shall 
give  me  length  of  days,  by  his  help  I  will  do  my  duty  in  this  heri 
tage  of  thistles ;  and,  if  I  cannot  succeed  in  making  this  moral 
wilderness  to  blossom  like  the  rose,  I  will,  at  least,  devote  my  best 
energies  to  the  removal  of  those  tares  and  brambles,  which  I  have 
wilfully  permitted  to  accumulate,  when  I  might  have  resisted  their 
increase.  I  speak  not  without  reflection.  Day  and  night,  since 
the  recovery  of  my  reason,  I  have  diligently  and  prayerfully  em 
ployed  it  in  this  behalf.  I  have  digested  my  plans.  My  settlement 
is  for  life.  I  cannot  be  removed,  but  for  such  grounds  of  offence,  as 
are  well  understood.  The  popular  process  for  the  ejection  of  a 
clergyman,  who  renders  himself  obnoxious,  by  opposing  the  vicious 
inclinations  of  his  parishioners,  we  all  understand  ;  and  it  has  been 
often  and  successfully  employed.  Gratuities  and  facilities,  which 
he  has  hitherto  received,  are  to  be  withheld.  This  is  a  matter  of 
course,  and  I  count  it  as  nothing.  His  salary  is  to  be  cut  down,  and 
the  process  of  starvation  is  to  be  conducted  against  him,  as  ener- 
geticallj  by  his  parish,  as  it  is  by  a  besieging  army  against  the 
tenants  >f  a  citadel.  For  this  I  am  prepared ;  I  am  willing  to  be 
poor,  that  I  may  make  many  rich ;  I  am  ready  to  serve  the  Lord  on 
bread  and  water.  I  have  been  a  great  sinner,  and  I  fervently  desire 
to  present  upon  God's  holy  altars,  some  practical  evidence  of  mjj 
repentance  I  ardently  long  to  save  one  soul  alive  ! '  —  My  friend 


THE  STAGE  COACH.  119 

clasped  my  hands,  and  exclaimed, '  Go  on,  and  may  God  support  you ! 
Paul,  thus  converted,  became  an  advocate  of  Christ.'  —  1  informed 
mv  friend,  that  I  intended  to  preach  on  the  next  Sabbath.  He 
suggested  my  weakness.  I  told  him  that  God  would  give  me 
strength.  After  an  impressive  prayer,  Mr.  Anderson  left  me, 
engaging  to  be  present,  and  assist  me  in  the  services  of  the  sanc 
tuary. 

"  During  the  previous  week,  the  intelligence  had  been  exten 
sively  circulated,  that  I  should,  on  that  day,  resume  my  ministerial 
duties,  and  the  gathering  was  unusually  large.  No  tongue  can 
describe  the  intensity  of  my  feelings,  when  the  first  stroke  of  the 
village  bell  came  upon  my  ear.  I  was  fearful  that  my  friend  would 
disappoint  me,  and,  though  extremely  feeble  in  the  flesh,  yet,  as  it 
was  a  delightful  morning,  —  it  was  the  last  Sabbath  in  June, — I 
set  forward  slowly,  and  on  foot.  I  had  not  gone  far,  when  I  saw 
Mr.  Anderson,  with  his  horse  and  chaise,  advancing  towards  me. 
We  rode  to  the  church  together.  There  was  an  unusual  collection 
about  the  door.  The  first  person  who  greeted  me,  and  in  the  most 
cordial  manner,  after  we  alighted,  was  old  Gabriel  Kelly  ;  —  it  was 
he  whom  Mr.  Anderson  had  offended,  by  refusing  his  toddy.  I 
overheard  him  saying  to  a  neighbor,  as  we  were  entering  the 
church,  *  Well,  we  sha'n't  hear  about  no  brimstone  to-day.' 

"  The  preparatory  services  were  conducted  in  an  admirable  man 
ner  by  my  kind  friend.  When  I  rose,  the  congregation  was  unu 
sually  solemn  and  attentive,  possibly  on  account  of  the  emotion, 
which  I  undoubtedly  exhibited,  for  my  heart  was  full.  I  had  chosen 
for  my  text  a  part  of  the  seventh  verse  of  the  thirteenth  chapter  of 
St.  Luke.  'Behold,  these  three  years  I  come  seeking  fruit  on  this  fig- 
tree,  and  find  none  :  cut  it  down  ;  why  cumbercth  it  the  ground?'  I 
applied  this  passage  to  myself,  and  my  unfaithful  ministration,  and 
begged  the  Lord,  in  the  language  of  the  dresser  of  the  vineyard,  to 
let  it  alone  this  year  also.  I  plainly  told  my  people,  that,  as  I  should 
not  spare  their  sins,  I  would  not  spare  my  own.  I  set  before  them 
a  strong  picture  of  my  own  unfaithfulness.  I  told  them,  that  I  had 
been  appointed  their  shepherd,  but  that  I  had  suffered  the  wolf  to 
come  into  the  fold  ;  that  I  had  been  set  apart  to  preach  the  gospel, 
which  I  had  not  preached  ;  that  I  had  accepted  the  office  of  their 
spiritual  guide,  to  lead  them  in  the  way  of  salvation,  instead  of 
which  I  had  walked  with  them  in  the  paths  of  wickedness.  In  con 
elusion,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  I  most  penitently  begged  the  forgive 
ness  of  Heaven,  and  of  my  parishioners.  The  concluding  prayer 
by  Mr.  Anderson  was  adm.rable ;  and,  even  among  my  misguided 
people,  there  were  melted  l.earts  and  moistened  eyes,  when  he  con- 


120  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

eluded,  in  the  words  of  holy  writ,  '  and  if  it  bear  fruit,  —  well ;  and 
if  not,  then,  after  that,  thou  shall  cut  it  down.'  '' 

"Ah,  mynheer,"  said  the  Dutchman,  who  had  seized  hold  of  the 
clergyman  's  hands,  while  the  tears  ran  freely  down  his  own  cheeks, 
—  "  ah,  mynheer,  how  much  petter  you  feelt  after  you  had  made  de 
clean  preast,  in  dat  vay  !"  —  "Indeed,"  continued  the  narrator,  "  I 
derived  a  measure  of  strength  and  exhilaration  from  the  performance 
of  my  duty  on  that  occasion,  which  it  falls  not  to  the  lot  of  any 
dram-drinker  to  enjoy  or  comprehend.  My  friend  Anderson  endeav 
ored  to  dissuade  me  from  preaching  again  upon  that  day  ;  but  I  per 
sisted,  assuring  him,  that  I  felt  stronger,  than  when  I  entered  my 
pulpit  in  the  morning.  I  preached,  in  the  afternoon,  from  a  part  of 
the  thirty -fourth  verse  of  the  twenty-first  chapter  of  St.  Luke: 
*  Take  heed  to  yourselves,  lest,  at  any  time,  your  hearts  be  overcharged 
with  surfeiting  and  drunkenness .'  I  had  read  my  text,  and  was  in 
the  act  of  repeating  it,  as  usual,  when  old  Gabriel  Kelly  rose  up, 
in  evident  indignation,  and  walked  out  of  the  meeting-house.  This 
was  a  fortunate  occurrence.  Had  the  example  been  set  by  any 
one  of  my  less  culpable  parishioners,  it  might  have  been  followed 
by  others ;  but  the  pioneer,  in  the  present  instance,  was  an  incom 
parable  drunkard,  and  no  one  appeared  willing  to  follow  such  a 
notable  file-leader  as  Gabriel  Kelly.  My  sermon  was  simple  in  its 
arrangement,  practical,  and  direct.  I  expressed  my  opinion  very 
plainly,  that  our  village  was  remarkable  for  intemperance  ;  that, 
when  I  first  assumed  my  pastoral  duties,  I  was  a  temperate  man  ; 
that  my  desire  of  pleasing  man  was  then  paramount  to  my  desire  of 
pleasing  God  ;  that  a  non-conformist  was  not  more  offensive  to  the 
professors  of  an  established  religion,  in  certain  countries,  than  a 
water-drinker,  in  the  midst  of  an  intemperate  population  ;  that  a 
clergyman,  who  would  not  imitate  the  dram-drinking  habits  of  his 
people,  inflicted  a  negative  insult  upon  some  one  of  them,  as  often 
as  he  refused  the  proffered  cup  ;  that  my  desire  of  popularity  had 
induced  me  to  be  sociable  with  my  parishioners,  which  I  readily  per 
ceived  was  an  impracticable  matter,  without  the  assistance  of  strong 
diink  ;  that  I  had,  according  to  my  conscientious  construction  of  past 
conduct,  sinfully  yielded  to  the  temptation,  until  a  craving  for  that 
beverage,  which,  in  the  outset,  was  by  no  means  agreeable,  had 
brought  me  to  the  condition  of  a  tippler.  I  quoted  the  remark  of  a 
French  writer,  who  has  observed,  that,  in  the  misfortunes  of  our 
very  best  friends,  there  is  commonly  something  not  altogether  dis 
agreeable  to  our  feelings  ;  and  that  even  the  funeral  of  a  parishioner 
had  not  been  without  its  fascinations  for  us  all,  —  for  the  bottle,  on 
such  occasions,  was  always  full,  however  empty  and  impotent  the 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  121 

prayer.  I  recited  before  them  the  row  which  I  had  made  upo'i  my 
sick-bed,  and,  as  I  had  feared,  upon  my  dying  pillow,  while  I  had 
been  suffering  from  trm  effects  of  those  evil  habits,  which  I  had  con 
tracted  during  my  unworthy  ministration.  That  vow  I  renewed 
in  the  most  solemn  manner,  before  them  all. — The  congregation 
weie  grave  and  attentive,  beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations. 
Nothing  occurred,  after  the  departure  of  old  Kelly,  to  mar  the 
solemnity  of  the  services,  with  a  single  exception.  While  I  was 
pressing  earnestly,  upon  the  consideration  of  my  hearers,  the  uncer 
tainty  of  life,  the  certainty,  and  the  possible  suddenness,  of  death, 
and  the  horrible  idea  of  being  summoned  —  drunk  —  before  the  bar 
of  an  indignant  God,  —  old  Mrs.  Troutbeck,  the  butcher's  widow, 
fainted  away  in  her  pew,  to  the  great  consternation  of  the  assembly, 
by  some  of  whom  it  was  probably  accounted  an  awful  illustration, 
as  the  old  lady's  habits  were  notoriously  bad.  She  was  removed 
into  the  open  air.  and  speedily  recovered. 

"  As  I  walked  down  the  aisle,  after  the  service,  though  few  of 
my  male  parishioners  remained  to  greet  me,  I  was  received  by  sev 
eral  of  the  females,  with  unusual  cordiality  ;  and  some  of  them,  as 
they  shook  hands  with  me,  could  not  refrain  from  shedding  tears. 
As  I  passed  through  the  porch,  and  bowed  kindly,  but  solemnly, 
to  such  of  my  people  as  still  lingered  there,  they  returned  my  salu 
tation  with  unwonted  respectfulness  of  manner,  some  of  them  even 
touching  their  hats,  —  a  thing  almost  without  precedent  in  the  parish 
ofMicklefield. 

"  There  was  a  man  in  my  society,  who,  from  my  first  arrival  in 
Micklefield,  had  treated  me  with  marked  neglect.  His  name  was 
Kirk  Bradish.  He  was  a  farmer,  and  supposed  to  be  the  wealthi 
est  man  in  the  village.  From  this  man,  and  his  wife,  Elspeth,  I  had 
never  received  the  slightest  token  of  friendship.  I  had  been  fore 
warned,  by  one  of  those  volunteers,  who  may  be  found  amongst 
every  people,  ready  to  furnish  all  descriptions  of  small  knowledge  to 
the  new  minister,  that  Kirk  and  his  wife  were  unsocial  people,  and 
never  treated.  I  called  upon  them,  once  or  twice,  as  a  matter  of 
duty,  —  was  civilly  but  coldly  received,  —  and  there  our  intercourse 
seemed  likely  to  terminate.  They  lost  their  only  child,  about  two 
years  after  my  ordination,  and  removed  the  body  full  twenty  miles, 
to  the  town  in  which  Mrs.  Bradish  was  born,  and  there  it  was 
buried.  I  was  highly  offended,  when  I  heard  that  Kirk  Bradish 
had  assigned,  as  a  reason  for  this  conduct,  that  he  intended  his 
child  should  have  Christian  burial,  and  that  there  was  no  such 
Uiing  to  be  had  in  Micklefield.  I  disbelieved  the  story  at  first,  but 
it  was  soon  confirmed  by  several  of  those  witnesses,  wko  are  evei 

vot.  n.  11 


122  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

the  swift  messengers  of  ungrateful  tidings.  Our  greetings  were 
accordingly  cold  and  uncompromising,  and  I  set  him  down  as  the 
greatest  enemy  I  had  in  Micklefield.  —  When  I  was  leaving  the 
meeting-house  steps,  after  the  services  of  the  afternoon,  leaning,  for 
support,  upon  the  arm  of  my  friend  Anderson,  I  was  agreeably  sur 
prised,  by  a  cordial  greeting  from  Kirk  Bradish  and  his  wife.  The 
old  lady  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  exclaimed,  *  God  bless  you,  Mr. 
Meredith,  and  give  you  strength  and  length  of  days  to  do  his  holy 
will !'  I  was  much  affected  by  the  earnestness  of  her  manner,  a.id 
thanked  her  for  her  kind  wishes.  *  You  are  feeble,  —  you  will  gc 
home  in  my  chaise,  Mr.  Meredith1?'  said  her  husband  ;  '  here,  —  let 
me  help  you  in.'  Kirk's  theory  and  practice  of  friendship  were  so 
closely  allied,  that  I  had  no  time  for  debate.  In  a  moment  I  was 
riding,  side  by  side,  with  the  greatest  enemy  I  had  in  Micklefield: 
Mr.  Anderson  followed,  on  foot.  We  rode  on  in  silence,  till  we  hac 
nearly  reached  my  lodgings.  '  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he,  as  we  were 
drawing  up  before  the  door,  '  you  have  a  hard  task  before  you,  but 
I  was  sure,  when  I  heard  you  this  morning,  that  you  had  an  un 
earthly  support,  and  that  the  grace  of  God  had  been  shed  abroad  ir 
your  heart.'  —  My  feelings  were  too  strong  for  utterance.  I  had 
supposed,  that,  in  the  performance  of  my  vow,  I  should  be  com 
pelled  to  enter  the  field  against  every  member  of  my  parish  ;  — that 
I  should  commmence  my  arduous  work  of  reformation  without  one 
earthly  friend.  It  was  otherwise.  God  had  already  raised  up  on 
his  side,  the  most  powerful  of  my  parishioners ;  for,  if  wealth  is  a 
powerful  instrument,  in  the  hands  even  of  bad  men,  it  rnay  be  made 
still  more  so  with  those,  who  are  willing  to  exert  the  influence  it 
affords  to  its  proprietor,  on  the  side  of  virtue  and  religion.  I  made 
no  reply,  but  shook  the  honest  farmer  by  the  hand,  which  he 
returned  with  a  cordial  grasp,  that,  from  such  a  man,  was  equivalent 
to  a  covenant,  under  seal,  acknowledged,  and  recorded. 

"I  passed  an  hour  with  my  friend  Anderson,  who  congratulated 
me  on  this  auspicious  beginning.  When  my  good  landlady  re 
turned,  who  had  dropped  in  upon  a  few  of  her  neighbors,  after 
meeting,  she  informed  us,  that  there  was  a  great  excitement  in  the 
parish.  The  morning  discourse  might  have  passed  off  quietly 
enough,  as  she  supposed  ;  but  the  sermon  of  the  afternoon  had  set 
the  congregation  in  a  blaze.  Several  of  the  females,  she  remarked, 
were  decidedly  in  my  favor,  and  wished  their  husbands  could  be 
persuaded  to  leave  off  spirit,  but  the  men  were  excessively  angry. 
She  had  gathered  the  information,  that  a  town  meeting  would  soon 
be  called  in  consequence  of  my  conduct. 

•'  l3«ibre  breakfast,  011  the  following  morning,  I  received  a  visit 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  123 

from  Deacon  Anthony,  who  desired  to  see  me  in  private.  He 
endeavored  to  be  civil,  but  was  evidently  offended  by  the  course  I 
had  pursued.  —  '  Well,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he,  '  it 's  just  as  I  told 
you  ;  you  're  thrown  the  whole  parish  into  an  uproar.  I  thought 
you  understood  our  people  better.  Do  you  think  your  whole  con 
gregation  are  going  to  give  up  spirit,  because  it  don't  agree  with 
you?'  —  *  Certainly  not,  Deacon  Anthony,'  said  I;  'I  truly  wish 
they  would  give  it  up,  not  to  please  me,  but  to  please  their  Maker, 
who  has  warned  them  against  drunkenness ;  and  to  benefit  them 
selves,  and  their  families.'  —  *  Pshaw !  Mr.  Meredith,  you  're  getting 
to  be  notional.11  —  '  I  do  not  think  so,  deacon,'  I  replied  ;  '  you  once 
told  me,  that,  for  many  years,  the  average  of  common  drunkards  in 
Micklefield  was  about  seventy  or  eighty.  This  number,  I  under 
stand  you,  remains  unimpaired.  The  drunkards  themselves  stagger 
into  their  graves,  but,  to  maintain  the  average,  their  places  must  be 
supplied.  Now,  since  you  appear  to  be  perfectly  contented  with 
this  condition  of  things,  permit  me  to  ask  you  who,  among  our  peo 
ple,  are  to  supply  their  places.'  —  '  I  'm  sure  I  can't  tell,'  said  the 
deacon  ;  '  perhaps  you  think,  that  I,  myself,  may  become  a  drunk 
ard,  Mr.  Meredith.' — '  No,  sir,'  I  replied,  '  I  think  you  may  possi 
bly  escape  ;  you  commenced  the  use  of  spirit,  as  you  have  told  me, 
after  your  constitution  was  pretty  well  confirmed.  When  I  was 
last  at  your  house,  you  had  your  son  Amos  upon  your  knee.  I 
think  he  is  not  yet  six  years  old.  You  held  a  glass  in  your  hand  ; 
you  had  drunken  the  liquor,  and  were  giving  your  child,  with  a 
spoon,  the  rummy  sugar  at  the  bottom.  I  never  shall  forget  his 
eagerness,  as  he  ran  towards  you,  when  you  were  mixing  your 
dram,  indicating  how  well  he  understood  the  process,  and  how  much 
of  a  little  slave  he  had  already  become  to  his  appetite  for  rum  and 
sugar.  I  recollect  that,  after  he  had  received  the  whole  relignium, 
he  cried  for  more  ;  and  that,  when  you  gently  reprimanded  him,  he 
exclaimed  in  a  passion,  "  I  don't  care  ;  when  I  grow  up,  I'll  have 
as  much  rum  and  sugar  as  I  want."  —  Now,  Deacon  Anthony,  I 
ask  you,  affectionately,  but  most  solemnly,  would  it  be  contrary  to 
the  common  course  of  things,  if  little  Amos  should,  at  some  future 
day,  be  one  of  the  common  drunkards  of  Micklefield?'  —  The  dea 
con's  countenance  was  immediately  convulsed  with  conflicting  emo 
tions.  He  was  angry,  but  he  was  shocked  and  violently  agitated,  by 
the  picture  I  had  drawn.  — '  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he, '  don't  you  trouble 
yourself  about  Amos.  But  let 's  cut  this  matter  short ;  you  're 
settled  here  for  life ;  there  's  no  agreement  about  salary,  only  .hat 
we  're  to  give  you  a  reasonable  support  according  to  our  ability.  Now 
we  seem  to  be  getting  poorer  every  year.  This  year,  in  particular, 


124  THE  STAOE-COACH. 

everything  has  gone  behindhand.  We  had  a  horrid  freshet  in  the 
spring,  and  it'll  cost  the  town  a  sight  o'  money  for  the  uppe? 
and  lower  bridges  ;  both  were  carried  away,  you  remember.  Then 
crops  have  been  short;  besides — '  'Stop,  deacon,'  said  I,  'save 
yourself  this  trouble,  and  tell  me  frankly  youi  wishes.'  — '  Why, 
10  be  plain,  Mr.  Meredith,  we  don't  doubt  a  man  of  your  talents 
can  find  a  settlement,  that  will  suit  him  better,  and  if  you  had  as 
lieve  as  not,  I  think  the  people  would  be  willing  to  pay  up  what 
they  owe  you,  and  make  you  some  sort  of  a  present,  and  put  an  enc 
to  the  contract.'  —  'I  perfectly  understand  you,  Deacon  Anthony 
said  I,  '  and  I  now  tell  you,  after  grave  and  prayerful  considera 
tion,  that  I  will  not  leave  Micklefield,  until  I  shall  have  atoned  for 
my  errors.  You  speak  of  the  amount  they  owe  me  ;  they  owe  me 
nothing.  I  have  already  eaten  enough  of  the  bread  of  unfaithful 
ness.  What  they  please  to  give,  I  will  receive.  If  nothing,  I 
am  ready  to  starve,  if  it  .be  God's  will,  and  to  wear  that  sackcloth, 
which  I  have  so  well  deserved.' — 'Well,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he 
as  he  rose  to  go, '  then  they  '11  call  a  town-meeting,  and  settle  it  their 
own  way. '  —  'I  shall  pray  God  to  give  them  wisdom  in  all  their 
deliberations,'  said  I. 

"  Deacon  Anthony's  predictions,  touching  the  affairs  of  Mickle 
field,  were  about  as  likely  to  be  verified,  as  those  of  the  master  of  a 
puppet-show,  respecting  the  movements  of  his  little  operatives.  In 
the  early  part  of  the  following  week  the  notices  were  abroad ;  and, 
after  certain  unimportant  matters,  the  main  object  was  set  forth,  in 
the  usual  phraseology  of  the  warrant,  —  to  see  what  measures  the 
town  will  take  to  fix  the  w?mis£er's  salary ;  the  design  of  which  was 
in  fact  to  fix  the  minister,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  adopt  the  expres 
sion,  employed  by  the  lady  in  her  narrative  of  Parson  Pottle.  The 
day  arrived.  It  was  then  very  common  for  clergymen  to  attend 
these  assemblies  and  take  a  busy  part  in  town  affairs.  Upon  this 
occasion,  I  was  absent  of  course.  The  son  of  my  landlady  gave 
us  a  full  account  in  the  evening.  He  stated,  that  the  parish  was 
very  much  excited  by  my  late  course ;  and  that  the  affairs  of  the 
meeting  had  been  conducted  in  a  bitter  spirit.  One  person  moved, 
that  a  committee  be  appointed  to  invite  the  minister  to  resign. 
Deacon  Anthony  assured  the  meeting,  that  he  had  sounded  Mr. 
Meredith,  and  that  such  a  course  would  consume  time  and  produce 
no  possible  good.  Squire  Higgle,  the  attorney,  in  answer  to  a 
question  from  one  of  the  distillers,  gave  his  opinion,  that  no  legal 
ground  existed  for  terminating  the  contract.  It  was  then  moved  by 
jne  of  the  distillers,  and  seconded  by  an  inn-holder,  that,  consider- 
Uig  the  poverty  of  the  town,  it  could  not  afford,  during  the  present 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  125 

year,  to  pay  more  for  the  support  of  a  minister,  than  one  dollar  per 
Sabbath,  or  fifty-two  dollars  per  year.  This  motion  was  opposed 
with  great  zeal,  by  one  person  only,  who  had  never  spoken  in  town- 
meeting  before.  He  inquired  after  the  real  object  of  this  meeting  ; 
and  boldly  put  the  question  to  the  distillers,  and  inn-holders,  and  deal 
ers  in  liquor,  if  their  real  object  were  not  to  rid  the  town  of  a  man, 
who  was  likely  to  interfere  with  their  traffic.  — The  speaker  was 
called  to  order,  and  Deacon  Anthony,  the  moderator,  informed  :  im, 
that  it  was  not  in  order  to  call  on  members  of  the  meeting  in  hat 
manner ;  and  that  all  his  questions  must  be  put  to  the  moderator 
*  Well,  then,  Mr.  Moderator,'  continued  the  speaker, '  I  put  the  ques 
tion  to  you  ;  Can  you  lay  your  hand  upon  your  heart,  and  honestly 
say,  that  you  are  not  desirous  of  driving  your  minister  out  of  town, 
because  he  is  likely  to  lessen  the  rum  profits  of  your  shop?'  —  The 
directness  and  unexpectedness  of  this  appeal,  while  it  deprived  the 
deacon  of  the  power  of  utterance,  had  aii  obvious  effect  upon  the 
assembly,  which  effect  was  increased,  by  the  resolute,  uncompro 
mising  manner  of  the  speaker.  —  Under  a  specious  misnomer,  how 
easily  we  become  familiar  with  the  perpetration  of  sin  and  folly ! 
the  dissipated  and  the  drunken  only  drown  care.  —  The  miser  obeys 
the  injunction  of  holy  writ,  and  provides  for  his  own  household.  — 
The  well-trained  members  of  a  political  party  may  be  too  thoroughly 
accustomed  to  the  exposition  of  their  corrupt  motives,  to  be  diverted 
from  their  course ;  but  it  was  not  precisely  thus  in  the  town-meet 
ing  of  Micklefield  ;  and,  while  the  speaker  continued  to  expose  the 
injustice  of  a  measure,  designed  to  crush  a  clergyman,  because  he 
had  resolved  to  do  his  duty,  more  than  one,  either  from  principle  or 
shame,  seceded  in  his  heart  from  the  main  body.  When  the  vote 
was  taken,  the  motion  was  lost  by  a  very  small  majority.  It  was, 
however,  voted  to  fix  the  salary  at  one  hundred  and  four  dollars,  for 
the  current  year.  For  several  years,  I  had  annually  received  about 
two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars ;  and,  until  the  present  occasion,  as  I 
have  stated,  the  salary  had  riot  been  limited  to  any  particular  sum. 
Notice  of  the  new  arrangement  was  sent  me  by  the  town-clerk. 
Deacon  Anthony  was  probably  ashamed  to  be  the  bearer  of  this 
intelligence  himself.  The  final  motion  was  also  opposed  with 
great  earnestness  by  the  speaker,  who  had  opposed  the  first.  This 
speaker  was  Kirk  Bradish,  the  man,  whom  I  had  once  accounted 
the  greatest  enemy  I  had  in  Micklefield. 

"  On  the  next  Sabbath  morning,  the  meeting-house  was  unusually 
full ;  many  being  desirous,  without  doubt,  of  witnessing  the  effect, 
which  the  late  vote  had  produced  upon  the  minister.  I  preached  from 
2  Corinthians,  ix.  6,  7  —  He  that  soweth  little  shall  reap  little^  and  he 

VOL.    II.  11* 


126  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

that  soweth  plenteously  shall  reap  plenteously.  Let  every  man  do 
according  as  he  is  disposed  in  his  heart ,  not  grudgingly  or  of  neces 
sity^  for  God  loveth  a  cheerful  giver.  My  text  had  possibly  led  not 
a  few  of  my  parishioners  to  expect  a  sermon,  full  of  complaint,  on 
account  of  my  straitened  condition.  But  1  really  felt,  that  I  deserved 
nothing  at  their  hands  ;  and  I  told  them  so,  in  the  heartfelt  language 
of  simplicity  and  truth.  I  thanked  them  for  the  allowance  they  had 
voted  me,  and  stated  my  desire  to  live  even  upon  a  smaller  sum,  if 
my  present  salary  should  be  found  burdensome  to  the  pa:ish.  I 
compared  the  luxurious  lives  of  many  modern  clergymen  with  the 
necessities  and  distresses,  the  watchings  and  fastings,  the  stripes  and 
imprisonments  of  the  primitive  apostles.  I  told  them,  that  I  desired 
nothing  so  ardently  as  the  salvation  of  their  souls,  and  that  they 
should,  one  and  all,  decide  as  I  had  done,  between  God  and  Mam 
mon.  Many  of  my  hearers  were  deeply  affected.  Those,  who,  when 
I  commenced,  had  planted  themselves  in  their  seats,  with  an  expres 
sion  of  dissatisfaction  and  even  defiance,  and  who  had  anticipated  a 
sermon  full  of  censure  and  crimination,  hung  their  heads  for  shame 
and  disappointment.  When  I  passed  down  the  steps,  the  touching 
of  hats  became  so  contagious,  that  I  began  to  hope  for  a  reformation 
in  the  manners  of  Micklefield.  There  was  an  old  sailor  in  our  par 
ish,  long  retired  from  the  sea,  who  was  a  moderate  drinker.  This 
man,  Captain  Plunket,  had  an  only  son,  who  was  exceedingly  dear 
to  him,  but  was  becoming  a  fearful  drunkard  ;  and  it  was  thought,  he 
would  one  day  break  the  old  man's  heart.  As  I  came  out  of  the 
meeting-house,  Captain  Plunket  caught  me  by  the  hand,  with  a  con 
vulsive  grasp.  —  '  God  bless  ye,  Mr.  Meredith,'  said  he.  —  His  lip 
quivered,  and  the  tears  came  into  his  eye.  —  'You  don't  know  what 
you  've  done  for  me.'  —  'And  pray  what  is  it,  sir?'  I  inquired. — 
'  What  is  it !'  said  he  ;  '  why,  my  son  John,  that  was  head  on  the 
rock,  has  come  right  about.  That  shot  you  fired  last  Sunday  after 
noon,  took  him  right  betwixt  wind  and  water,  and  he  's  been  plug 
ging  up  ever  since.  Why,  sir,  he  says  he  '11  never  touch  another 
drop,  while  he  lives.  He  's  coaxing  me  to  leave  off  too.'  — '  Take 
his  advice,  my  old  friend,'  said  I,  pressing  his  hand.  — '  Would  ye  ?' 
said  he.  —  '  Indeed,  I  would,'  I  replied.  — '  Well,  I  '11  think  on  't,' 
said  the  old  man,  '  I  will,  really.'  —  I  was  not  prepared  so  speedily 
to  witness  the  fruit  of  my  labors,  and  I  failed  not  to  bless  God,  for 
the  increase. 

"  Previously  to  my  conversion,  — for  such  I  may  justly  call  it,  I 
was  in  debt,  —  though  not  to  a  large  amount.  I  was  particularly 
anxious  to  be  absolved  from  this  obligation.  My  chief  creditor  was 
one  of  the  malecoutents  of  my  parish,  and  had  already  begun  to 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  127 

press  me  for  the  amount  of  his  demand.  My  landlady  had  offered 
to  loan  me  the  amount,  but  I  was  at  that  time  negotiating  with  her 
for  humbler  accommodations,  and  lower  board,  and  thought  proper 
to  refuse  her  offer.  I  had  no  other  convertible  property  than  my 
library,  which  I  had  taken  much  pains  to  collect.  It  comprised 
about  four  hundred  volumes.  Of  these,  I  had  catalogued  about  three 
hundred,  which  I  thought  I  could  most  easily  relinquish  ;  and, 
having  annexed  the  lowest  prices,  informed  my  landlady,  that  I 
intended  to  sell  them  separately  or  together.  A  few  days  after,  sho 
came  to  inform  me,  that  she  had  found  a  person,  who,  she  thought, 
would  like  to  be  a  purchaser,  and,  if  I  pleased,  would  show  him  up. 
I  begged  her  to  do  so  ;  and,  in  a  short  time,  Kirk  Bradish  entered 
my  apartment.  — '  I  'm  not  much  of  a  reading  character,  Mr.  Mere 
dith,'  said  he,  '  but  it 's  a  pity  such  a  fine  library  should  go  out  of  the 
parish,  and  my  good  woman  's  of  a  mind  that  I  better  buy  it.'  —  I 
showed  him  the  catalogue,  and  the  reduced  prices.  — '  Well,'  said 
he,  '  please  to  make  a  bill  of  sale,  and  I  '11  pay  you  for  it.'  —  He 
counted  out  the  money,  and  put  the  bill  of  sale  in  his  pocket-book. 
'When  will  you  send  for  the  books,  Mr.  Bradish?'  said  I.  —  'I 
can't  rightly  say,'  he  replied,  '  but  I  '11  let  you  know  the  day  before, 
if  that  will  answer.'  — '  Perfectly  well,' said  I.  —  A  month  after 
the  transfer,  I  reminded  him,  that  he  had  not  sent  for  his  books,  and 
have  done  so  repeatedly  since,  but  he  always  replies,  '  I  'm  to  let 
you  know  a  day  before,  and  you  said  that  would  answer.' 

"  My  efforts,  to  obtain  more  humble  accommodations  of  my  land 
lady,  were  in  vain.  She  put  me  off  with  various  excuses,  and  thus 
compelled  me  to  retain  the  best  apartment  in  her  house.  A  few 
days  before  my  quarter  bill  became  due,  I  told  her,  that  the  neces 
sity  of  adapting  my  expenses  to  my  limited  means  would  compel  me 
to  leave  her  house,  unless  she  would  permit  me  to  occupy  an  upper 
chamber.  The  old  lady  smiled,  and  bade  me  not  take  so  much 
thought  for  the  morrow.  I  had  reserved  enough  to  pay  for  my 
board  ;  and,  when  quarter  day  arrived,  I  put  down  the  money,  and, 
as  usual,  requested  a  receipt.  *  You  will  find  it,'  said  she  '  on  your 
table  ;  it  has  been  already  paid.'  — I  was  unable  to  get  any  explana 
tion  from  her  ;  and,  when  I  expressed  my  conviction,  that  it  was 
the  work  of  Kirk  Bradish,  she  simply  placed  her  finger  on  her  lips. 
When  I  taxed  him  with  this  act  of  beneficence,  however,  he  denied 
all  agency,  in  such  a  manner,  as  left  me  no  doubt  of  his  sincerity. 
In  this  way,  my  board  continued  to  be  paid  by  some  unknown  bene 
factor,  for  six  years.  I  have  never  been  able  to  unravel  the  mystery, 
in  any  other  way,  than  by  the  correspondence  of  events. — It  was 
never  paid  in  this  manner,  after  I  committed  the  remains  of  old 


^28  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

Captain  Plunket  to  the  grave.  —  The  town-meeting  produced  a  very 
dillerent  result  from  that,  which  its  projectors  designed.  It  increased 
the  number  of  my  friends,  and  taught  me,  that,  even  with  a  refer 
ence  to  the  comforts  of  the  present  world,  it  is  easier  to  serve  the 
Lord,  than  Baal,  if  we  seek  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  his  right 
eousness. 

11  Although  we  had  not  then  such  means,  as  are  derived  from  the 
principle  of  association,  yet  the  village  of  Micklefield  presented  no 
contemptible  example  of  local  reform.  Clergymen  are  eminently 
the  fuglars  or  exemplars  of  their  parishioners,  and  accordingly  they 
lie  under  a  fearful  responsibility.  I  continued,  by  example  and  by 
precept,  to  operate  upon  the  feelings  and  upon  the  reason  of  my 
flock  ;  and  my  success  was  vastly  beyond  my  most  sanguine  antici 
pations.  Though  temperance  societies  and  temperance  pledges 
were,  at  that  time,  unknown,  the  mischievous  effects  and  the  utter 
inutility  of  every  intoxicating  liquor  as  a  beverage,  were  well  under 
stood,  by  those,  who  considered  the  subject  with  attention.  Sen 
suality  and  selfishness  inculcated  a  different  and  a  more  popular 
doctrine.  It  was  almost  futile  to  war  against  a  people,  whose  very 
habits  so  obviously  tended  to  elevate  the  creature,  and  depress  the 
Creator,  —  with  such  weapons  alone,  as  the  spiritual  armory  affords. 
At  first,  and  before  the  pervading  spirit  of  temperance  itself  had 
prepared  the  way,  for  the  higher  and  holier  influence  of  the  gospel, 
the  success  of  my  efforts  seemed  mainly  to  depend  upon  a  correct 
demonstration  of  such  temporal  evil,  as  springs  manifestly  from 
intemperance.  Loss  of  money,  and  land,  and  comfort,  and  respecta 
bility,  and  health,  and  domestic  happiness,  and  friends,  and  reason, 
and  life  itself,  —  such  considerations  were  simple  and  intelligible, 
and  readily  traced  to  intemperance  as  their  source.  I  found  it  of 
much  advantage,  even  in  my  sermons,  to  introduce  the  opinions  of 
those  medical  writers,  who  delivered  their  sentiments  long  oefore 
the  first  conception  of  such  ;i  thing  as  a  temperance  society  ;  and 
upon  whose  pages  may  be  found  the  great  leading  features  ot  total 
abstinence.  I  often  said  to  my  people,  *  Many  imagine  hard  labor 
cannot  be  supported  without  drinking  strong  liquors.  This  is  a  very 
erroneous  notion.  Men,  who  never  taste  strong  liquors,  are  not  only 
able  to  endure  more  fatigue,  but  also  live  much  longer  than  those,  who 
use  them  daily.'* 

"  Long  before  the  great  temperance  reformation  arose  in  our  land, 
Micklefield  enjoyed  a  reformation  of  its  own.  So  manifest  were  its 
advantages,  that,  although,  for  the  two  first  years,  my  parishioners 

*  Buchan,  p.  85,  Coffin's  Ed. 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  129 

inflicted  the  petty  municipal  indignity  upon  their  pastor  of  electing 
him  hogreeve  of  the  village,  the  attempt  to  repeat  it,  for  the  third 
time,  was  resisted  by  a  large  majority,  who  were  already  sensible 
of  their  increasing  happiness.  In  the  course  of  seven  years,  the 
fires  of  three  distilleries  were  extinguished.  At  the  present  day,  no 
license  is  granted  in  this  village  ;  and  it  would  be  no  easy  matter  to 
find  a  town,  in  the  same  commonwealth,  more  remarkable  for  iu 
industry  and  sobriety  than  the  village  of  Micklefield.  My  good  old 
friend,  Deacon  Anthony,  who  is  yet  living,  at  a  very  advanced  age, 
has  thanked  me  a  hundred  times  for  my  resolution,  in  remaining 
with  my  parishioners.  Years  have  gone  by,  since  he  abandoned  his 
cheerless  occupation,  and  became,  in  fact,  that,  which  he  had  long 
been,  only  by  profession,  a  sincere  Christian  deacon.  A  short 
account  of  his  conversion  shall  close  my  narrative  of  the  parish  of 
Micklefield. — About  four  years  after  my  severe  illness,  I  receive*1 
a  message  from  old  Gabriel  Kelly,  requesting  me  to  visit  him,  as  he 
was  thought  to  be  dying.  I  made  my  way  with  all  possible  expe 
dition  to  his  miserable  dwelling.  I  reached  the  door  almost  at  the 
same  time  with  Deacon  Anthony,  who  appeared  somewhat  embar 
rassed  by  the  meeting.  — '  Kelly  is  dying,'  said  I.  — '  0,  no,'  said 
he,  '  he  '11  live  a  good  many  years  yet,  I  guess.  I  've  come  here  on 
a  little  business,  and,  if  you  're  going  in,  I  may  as  well  stop  on  my 
return.' — 'There  must  be  some  mistake  in  this  matter,  Deacon 
Anthony,'  said  I ;  '  if  Kelly  is  not  dying,  there  is  no  reason  why  ] 
should  remain,  and  I  will  immediately  return.'  —  'Pshaw,  Mr. 
Meredith,  he's  no  more  dying  than  you  are,  —  he 's  only  drunk,' 
cried  the  deacon,  opening  the  door. — We  entered  together.  Ga 
briel  Kelly  was  stretched  upon  his  straw-bed.  Dr.  Snuffler  was 
sitting  upon  a  broken  chair.  Gabriel's  wife,  manifestly  in  liquor, 
endeavored,  upon  our  entrance,  to  draw  forward  a  chest,  that  we 
might  be  seated.  Their  son,  Gershom,  a  young  man,  about  nine 
teen  years  of  age,  was  lying,  apparently  dead  drunk,  upon  the  floor. 
The  only  member  of  this  wretched  family,  who  seemed  to  be  capa 
ble  of  self-government,  was  a  daughter,  about  fifteen  years  old. 
She  had  the  reputation  of  being  perfectly  correct  in  her  habits  ;  and, 
though  misery  appeared  to  be  written  in  broad,  deep  lines,  upon  her 
features,  their  expression  was  amiable,  and,  under  other  circum 
stances,  she  would  have  been  accounted  pretty.  — '  How  is  he, 
doctor?  said  I.  — l  He  can't  live  through  the  day,' replied  the 
doctor :  '  they  've  been  giving  the  old  man  rum,  though  I  forbid  it, 
and  it  will  carry  him  off  a  little  sooner.'  — '  He  did  n't  drink  but  t~vo 
—  two  qua  —  quarts,'  said  the  woman.  — '  Two  quarts  !'  cried  the 
doctor.  —  'No,1  she  replied,  'we  got  about  two  qua  —  quprts.'  — 


130  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

«Well,'  said  the  doctor,  'how  much  did  he  drink?'  — 'He  —  he 
drinkt  all  that  was  n't  left  in  the  —  the  —  that's  what  he  drinkt.' 

"  *  Gabriel,'  said  the  doctor,  putting  his  hand  on  the  dying  man's 
shoulder,  '  Mr.  Meredith  has  come  to  see  you,  with  Deacon  An 
thony.' —  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  called  for  cold  water.  The 
doctor  said  he  might  take  just  what  he  pleased.  He  drank  a  little, 
and  in  a  feeble  voice  addressed  the  deacon  nearly  as  follows  :  — '  So, 
you've  come  to  see  the  old  drunkard  die?' — *  No,  Gabriel,'  said 
the  deacon;  '  I  came  because  you  sent  for  me.'  —  'I  didn't,'  said 
he.  — '  Your  son  Gershom,'  said  the  deacon,  *  came  to  my  shop  this 
morning,  and  said  if  I  would  let  you  have  two  quarts  of  rum,  and 
come  down  myself  this  forenoon,  you  'd  settle  our  account,  and  that 
you  could  n't  go  out.'  — '  He  and  the  old  woman  plotted  it,  I  s'pose, 
cried  Gabriel,  '  and  they  're  drunk,  no  doubt ;  —  settle  the  account, 
with  a  vengeance  !  What  an  account  you  've  got  to  settle  in  t'other 
world,  deacon !  I  'm  a-going  afore  ye,  for  one  of  your  vouchers. 
Settle  the  account,  to  be  sure !  Ask  the  minister,  that 's  setting  on 
the  chest  with  ye,  what  he  thinks  you  '11  look  like,  when  you  're 
called  up  for  a  set  —  settlement,  yourself.'  —  'Kelly,'  said  the 
deacon,  'you're  light-headed.'  —  'Well,  —  maybe  so,  but  I  a'n't 
light-hearted,  any  how.  —  Settle  the  account!  You  made  me  a 
drunkard,  —  and  the  old  woman  there,  —  and  Gershom,  —  and  now 
I  want  you  to  make  a  solemn  promise  to  a  dying  man.'  — '  You  're 
so  abusive,  Kelly,  that  you  have  no  right  to  ask  anything  of  me.'  — 
'  Well,  well,  deacon,  do  promise  a  dying  man  ;  it  won't  touch  ye  in 
your  substance,  —  so  ye  need  n't  be  scared,  deacon.  Now,  if  you  '11 
promise,  I  '11  tell  ye  something  for  your  advantage.'  — '  Well,'  said 
the  deacon,  hoping  to  shift  the  topic,  '  I  '11  promise,  if  the  thing  is  n't 
unreasonable.'  —  'That's  a  good  deacon,'  cried  Gabriel.  'You 
see  Alice  there,  my  daughter; — now  promise  me  you'll  never 
make  her  a  drunkard.'  —  The  old  man  would  not  desist,  though  he 
was  evidently -growing  weaker,  until  the  deacon  had  made  him  a 
solemn  promise,  that  he  would  never  furnish  Alice  Kelly  with  a 
drop  of  intoxicating  liquor.  —  'And  now,  Deacon  Anthony,'  said  he, 
'  I  feel  myself  a-going,  and  I  must  be  short,  but  I  '11  keep  my  word, 
and  tell  you  something  for  your  advantage.  It'll  be  for  jour  ad 
vantage,  deacon,  to  know  jest  what  folks  thinks  on  ye,  —  and  I'll 
tell  ye.  Last  new  year's  night,  more  than  twenty  on  us  was 
together  down  to  Kendall's  tavern,  and  we  was  all  unanimous,  that 
Deacon  Anthony  had  made  more  drunkards  in  Micklefield  than  any 
other  five  rum-sellers  beside.'  —  At  this  moment,  old  Kelly  was 
seized  with  a  fit  of  coughing,  which  put  an  end  to  the  deacon's 
persecution.  — I  asked  the  poor  old  sinner,  if  I  should  pray  for  him; 


THS  STAGE-COACH.  131 

he  replied,  that  it  was  of  no  use,  but  he  thought  it  might  be  well 
for  me  to  pray  for  Deacon  Anthony.  I  inquired  why  he  had  sent 
for  me.  He  said  he  wished  me  to  be  a  witness  of  the  deacon's 
promise,  that  he  would  not  make  Alice  a  drunkard.  —  The  doctor 
observed  that  his  pulse  was  failing.  —  'How  long  can  I  live?'  said 
old  Gabriel.  — 'Not  long,'  said  the  doctor.  —  '  I  forgive  ye,  deacon,' 
said  he,  '  and  hope  God  will,  but  I  should  die  something  easier,  1 
think,  if  you  was  out  of  the  house.'  —  The  deacon  had  never  un 
dergone  such  a  trial  before.  He  went  out  in  silence.  The  effect 
of  this  interview  was  greater  than  I  could  have  expected.  Aoout  a 
fortnight  after  old  Kelly's  death,  which  occurred  on  the  evening  of 
that  day,  Dr.  Snuffler  informed  me,  that  he  was  in  the  deacon's 
shop,  when  a  customer  called  to  have  his  jug  filled  with  New  Eng 
land  rum,  and  the  deacon  informed  him  that  he  had  done  selling 
spirit.  From  that  time,  he  became  a  truly  respectable  deacon.  He 
more  than  redeemed  his  pledge  to  Gabriel  Kelly  ;  for  he  received 
Alice  into  his  own  family,  where  she  remained,  until  she  married  a 
worthy  mechanic.  But  it  is  time  for  me  to  offer  you  my  apology 
for  this  trespass  upon  your  patience."  —  "  Veil,  mynheer,"  said  the 
Dutchman,  "  dat  ish  vat  I  calls  a  vary  goot  shtory  ;  and  who  ish  to 
tell  de  nex  von?  Here,"  continued  he,  addressing  the  daughter  of 
the  Emerald  Isle,  "  vat  have  you  got  to  zay  apout  dish  temperance 
pisness,  eh,  voman?" 


PART    SIXTH. 

"  Och,  daar  sir,"  cried  the  poor  Irish  woman,  "  it 's  no  moor  nor  a 
poor  widdy,  that  I  am,  a  lone  wuman,  sir,  lift  dissolute,  and  this 
same  has  happunt  to  me  foor  times  already.  It's  not  for  the  like 
o'  me  to  prate  afoor  quality."  —  "  Veil,  veil,"  cried  the  Dutchman, 
"  naver  moind  apout  dat ;  let  us  know  vat  ish  your  idees  of  de  tem 
perance  pisness."  —  "  Lard  bliss  your  honor,"  she  replied,  "it's 
timp'rance,  and  nathing  else  in  the  warld,  has  done  the  job  for  my 
self  and  my  poor  daar  husbands, —  all  foor  on  em,  —  and  I,  as  I 
toult  ye,  a  lone  widdy  into  the  bargain."  Here  she  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands,  and  uttered  a  problematical  sound,  between  a 
scream  and  a  howl.  —  After  a  considerable  pause,  during  which  the 
Dutchman  had  listened  to  the  widow's  ululations,  with  evident 
impatience,  —  "  Dere 's  netting,"  said  he,  with  a  comical  expres 
sion,  "  will  shtop  grief,  ven  he  preak  ioose,  and  make  a  pig  noise, 
ike  Hollands ;  did  you  ever  try  'em?"  —  At  first  we  were  a  little 


132  THE  STAGE-COACH 

shocked  by  the  Dutchman's  plain  inquiry  He  had  evidently 
something  of  human  nature.  He  had  given  abundant  evidence, 
during  the  day,  of  an  affectionate  heart,  but  he  was  apparently 
unwilling  to  squander  its  sympathies  upon  a  worthless  object. — 
"  I  zay,  goot  voman,  did  you  ever  try  de  Hollands?"  continued  he, 
repeating  the  question.  — "  Och,  my  sowl,  your  honor,  niver  nor 
any  kind  o'  shpirit;  it 's  not  mysilf,  that  would  do  that  same  ;  I  niver 
tuk  a  dhrap  in  my  hull  life,  only  jist,  as  the  good  old  praast,  Father 
O'Callaghan,  used  to  say,  in  silf-defince,  to  kaap  the  wind  aff  the 
stomach,  or  the  like  o'  that.  At  wakes  and  birrils,  ye  know,  sir, 
it 's  all  right  for  the  dacency  o'  the  thing.  But  it 's  mysilf,  that 
ha.3  had  enough  o'  timperance  in  my  dee,  ye  may  well  say  that. 
There  was  my  first  husband  —  rest  his  sowl  —  John  Dory  it  was, 
he  was  a  raal  timperance  man.  In  my  oult  father's  cabin,  there 
was  the  crathur  a  plinty,  and  mony  's  the  brukken  head  that 's  fell 
to  my  share,  for  interfaaring  atwixt  the  oult  folks,  whin  they  kim 
to  licks  or  the  like  o'  that  ower  their  whiskey.  So  I  was  detarmint 
niver  to  be  the  wife  o'  ony  other  nor  a  timperance  mon.  John 
Dory  was  forward  enough  in  his  way  o'  coorting,  for  one  o'  my 
country,  and  I  soon  got  a  chance  to  smill  o'  the  lad's  brith,  and 
swaater  it  was  nor  ony  rose,  to  be  sure.  There  was  not  the  laast 
parfume  o'  the  crathur.  So  I  made  up  my  mind,  that  John  Dory 
was  the  man  for  Polly  M'Gee.  I  pit  the  plain  quistion  to  him,  this 
a  way,  *  John  Dory,'  said  I,  '  it 's  not  mysilf,  that  ;11  sit  down  for 
life  wid  a  whiskey-drinker.'  '  Daar  Polly,'  said  he,  '  my  name  's 
not  John  Dory,  if  I  'm  the  like  o'  that.  I  despise  the  maan  shtuff, 
and  ye  '11  niver  find  me  a  touching  a  dhrap  b'  it,  no  time  o'  dee.'  So 
John  and  me  was  married,  and  he  kipt  his  promise  to  the  litter.  But, 
for  all  that,  there  niver  was  a  woman  in  County  Cark,  that  got  sich 
tirrible  baatings  fro'  her  drunken  husband,  as  Mrs.  Dory,  that  was 
rny  own  self,  ye  know.  And,  for  all  that,  he  niver  touched  a  dhrap 
o'  whiskey.  It  was  nathing  in  the  warld  but  brandy  and  Hollands. 
John  was  kilt  outright,  in  a  riglar  shelala  fight  in  the  city  o'  Cark ; 
and  while  we  was  a  raising  the  keena  at  the  poor  mon's  wake,  the 
very  night  afore  his  birril,  Pether  O'Keefe,  his  third  cousin  by  the 
mother's  side,  squaazed  my  hand  and  breathed  so  hard,  that  'twas 
I  lain  enough,  he  was  after  coorting  mysilf  jist  thin.  '  Pether,'  said 
I,  in  a  whisper,  'be  aisy ;  how  can  ye  be  so  unseasonable  ?'  — 
Uch  ye  're  a  jewel,'  said  he,  in  a  low  tone,  and  thin  he  'd  raise  his 
voice,  to  the  top  o'  his  lungs,  and  join  in  the  keena  for  the  pool 
departed  mon,  his  own  third  cousin,  as  I  toult  ye. 

'*  In  about  a  waak  Pether  kim  to  coort  mysilf  riglar.     I  toult  him 
that  I  was  not  ower  covetous  o'  being  married  again.     '  Ye  're 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  133 

maaning  to  shpake  indirictly,'  said  he,  '  o'  my  cousin  Dory's  not 
being  so  perlite  as  he  might  'a  been.  He  baat  ye,  I  'm  toult,  —  it 
was  the  ondacent  thing,  to  be  sure  ;  but  he 's  anunder  boord  now, 
and  we  '11  be  after  saying  pace  to  his  sowl.  Ye  '11  be  safe  enough, 
Polly,  wid  Pether  O'Keefe,  if  ye  '11  be  a  little  consinting  -to  be 
the  wife  o'  a  jontleman  like  mysilf.  It 's  not  my  father's  son  that 
wull  be  sucking  the  mountain  dew,  hinny,  from  marning  to  night. 
Whiskey 's  a  maan  thing,  ony  how ;  Jamaica  is  haating ;  so  is 
brandy ;  and  gin  is  pertikler  dishagraable.  I  niver  tak  a  dhrap  o' 
'em,  Polly,  and,  by  the  powers,  it 's  not  mysilf  that  ever  wull.' 

"  Haar,  ye  see,  was  a  raal  timperance  mon,  none  o'  your  half 
way  spalpeens,  that  are  nather  one  thing  nor  the  tother.  Afoor 
two  months  we  was  married,  Pether  and  myself,  and  a  right  pace- 
able  time  we  had  o'  it,  for  four  and  twenty  hours.  The  very  next 
night  it  was,  that  Pether  O'Keefe  kim  home  as  drunk  as  a  baast. 
'  Och,  Pether,'  said  I,  '  I  'm  faaring  it 's  yoursilf,  that  has  been 
midling  wid  the  crathur.'  — '  Hout,  ye  jade,'  said  he,  '  away  wid 
your  blarney,  or,  by  the  powers  o'  mud,  I  ;11  be  after  knocking  your 
taath  claan  down  into  your  bread-basket,  ony  how.'  — '  Och,  Pether, 
Pether,'  said  I,  '  is  it  yoursilf  that  wull  be  using  me  that  a  way? 
Ye  've  been  up  to  the  dishtillery.'  — '  It 's  a  lie,  an  plase  ye,'  cried 
Pether ;  *  I  've  been  down  to  Bill  Keegan's  wid  half  a  dozen  moor 
tasting  a  few  quarts  o'  broon  shtout.' — '  Daar  mon,'  said  I,  'ye  've 
promised  me  to  have  nathing  to  do  wid  the  crathur ;  now  jist  tak  a 
bit  o'  paper,  and  gie  it  to  me,  in  black  and  white.'  — 'Black  and 
white  it  is?'  cried  Pether,  as  he  shprang  up  in  a  rage;  'by  the 
powers  ye  shall  have  it  in  black  and  blue,'  said  he,  and  he  gave  me 
a  click  in  the  eye,  that  sent  me  head  ower  haals  upon  the  floor.  I 
was  soon  Pether's  widdy,  for  he  died  in  a  fit,  about  siven  waaks- 
after  we  was  married. 

"  I  thought  I  had  had  enough  o'  matrimony  and  timperance  to 
boot ;  so  I  resolved  to  be  my  own  woman  for  the  rist  o'  my  dees. 
But  how  it  happunt  I  niver  was  able  to  tell,  in  a  yaar  or  something 
Jise  it  was,  after  Pether  O'Keefe  was  pit  under  boord,  I  was  owrer- 
persuaded  by  Phe'im  McCarthy,  a  swaat  young  mon  it  was.  Afoor 
we  was  married,  f  toult  Phelim  o'  all  the  throubles  myself  had  had, 
wid  John  Dory  and  Pether  O'Keefe,  and  how  I  was  detarmint  niver 
to  be  married  agin  to  ony  mon,  what  tuk  shpirit  or  the  like  o'  that. 
'  Daar  Polly,'  said  he,  '  ye  've  found  your  own  mon,  and  its  Phelim 
McCarthy,  at  vour  sarvice.  It 's  mysilf  it  is,  that  'o  signed  the 
plidge  o'  the  tunperance  society.'  —  'Sowl  o'  me,'  s*  d  I,  '  how  ) 
wish  I  'd  jist  Tint  wid  ye,  Phelim,  afoor.  A  mimber  •  the  timper- 
auce  soei<;lv  ^"  are!'  —  'It's  avv.n  so,  Polly,'  said  h«  •  and  ve '11 

MM,    TI  I'.i 


134  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

not  be  after  finding  more  jonteel  and  raasonable  people,  to  be  sure. 
I  lost  no  time  in  being  married  to  Phelim,  but  I  repinted  at  my 
lasure,  indaad  I  did.  He  was  a  bigger  drunkard  nor  Jobn  nor 
Pether.  He  laid  in  three  berrils  o'  oult  sour  cider  in  the  beginning, 
and  he  kipt  himsilf  drunk  dee  and  night.  Och,  sirs,  whin  John 
Dory,  my  first  husband,  daar  mon,  —  whin  he  was  drunk  wid  the 
raal  crathur,  he  bate  me,  to  be  sure,  but  after  a  little  bating  fro' 
mysilf,  wid  the  poker  or  some  sich  convanient  machine,  he  'd  lay 
aisy,  he  would,  till  the  nixt  dee.  It  wasn't  jist  that  same  wid 
Pether.  The  broon  shtout  and  the  portlier  was  moor  slaapier  foi 
his  nathur,  it  was ;  and  though,  if  I  did  n't  claar  out  o'  his  way, 
whin  he  was  raal  befuggled,  he  'd  be  sure  to  gie  me  a  click  in  the 
chaps,  or  a  teest  o'  his  great  showther  of  mutton  fist  in  the  ribs,  yet 
if  I  kipt  a  look-out,  whin  he  was  taking  his  short  tacks  and  bating 
into  the  door-way,  I  could  na  fail  to  manage  him  nately  wid  the  oult 
mop,  ye  see.  The  handle  was  jist  o'  the  length  to  kaap  him  aff, 
and  the  oult  rags,  whin  I  pit  'em  in  his  face,  saamed  to  confuse  him 
pretty  considerably  entirely.  It  was  an  aisy  thing  it  was,  to  pish 
Pether  ower  on  the  bid  or  maybe  the  floor,  and  't  was  aisier  for  him 
thin  to  get  aslaap,  than  to  clamber  up  on  to  his  ligs  agin.  Och, 
sirs,  these  here  was  a  moor  paceable  sort  o'  a  way  o'  baaing  drunk 
nor  Phelim  McCarthy's  on  his  oult  cider.  He  was  iver  a  jower- 
ing,  and  niver  so  raal  drunk  as  to  be  aisy.  He  kipt  his  ligs  he  did, 
and  had  the  fraa  use  o'  his  arms,  whin  he  was  the  drunkest.  He 
made  nathing  at  all  o'  drubbing  me,  wid  a  hull  gallon  o'  cider 
aboord.  I  tried  to  kaap  the  oult  woolf  in  order,  one  dee,  wid  the 
mop,  jist  as  I  did  Pether  so  aisy.  He  whisked  it  all  away  in  a  jiffy. 
'  I  '11  gie  ye  a  ride,'  said  he,  '  ye  Kilkenny  divil's  bird,'  —  an  onda- 
cent  reflection  that  same  upon  my  barthplace, —  so  he  saazed  me 
by  the  hair,  and  dragged  me  a  half  quarter  o'  a  mile,  and  I  crying 
for  marcy  the  hull  way.  Whiniver  I  toult  him  he  was  drunk,  as  I 
did  pretty  riglar  ivery  dee  ;  '  It 's  yourself  that 's  an  ignorant  baast,' 
he  would  say ;  '  how  can  Phelim  McCarthy  be  drunk,  whin  it 's 
known  for  a  universal  thing  that  he  's  a  mimber  o'  the  timperance 
society,  and  niver  touches  nor  tastes  a  dhrap  o'  the  raal  fiery  cra 
thur !'  We  was  married  aboot  two  years,  whin  Phelim  died  o'  the 
colic.  He  said,  wid  his  last  brith,  it  was  the  cider,  that  had  gi'n 
him  his  gruel ;  and  that  he  did  n't  belaave  there  was  a  doctor  in  the 
hull  warld,  no  moor  nor  a  potecary,  that  could  take  the  twist  out  o' 
his  bowels  jist  thin.  So  ye  see,  sirs,  I  was  lift  alone  in  the  warld, 
a  poor  widdy,  and  a  lone  wuman  entirely.  But  I  'm  fear'd  ye  '11 
be  thinking  I  had  the  luck  o'  being  coorted,  for  it  wasn't  moor 
nor  a  waak  arter  Phelim's  birril,  that  Patrick  McClannigan  made 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  135 

me  an  offer  of  his  own  silf.  He  was  five  yaars  younger  nor  me ; 
maybe  there  did  n't  saam  that  differ,  for  I  was  wonderfully  supported 
under  my  throubles,  to  be  sure.  I  was  more  detarmint  nor  iver 
niver  to  be  nobody's  wife  any  moor.  Patrick  was  not  the  liss 
detarrnint  himsilf  in  his  own  way.  It  was  not  the  aisiest  thing  in 
the  warld  to  resist  the  lad  that  he  was.  I  lit  him  see  jist  how  I  had 
been  desaaved  and  chated ;  and  I  toult  him  I  'd  not  be  the  wife  o' 
the  man  alive,  who  would  take  a  dhrap  o'  onything,  that  would  be 
the  maans  o'  gitting  him  drunk.  'Polly,'  said  he,  'I'll  not 
desaave  ye,  by  the  powers.  I  '11  confiss  the  hull  truth  to  ye  now. 
I  'se  taken  a  chaaring  dhrap  now  and  thin,  to  be  sure,  but  it 's 
mysilf  that  '11  do  a'most  ony  thing  to  plase  the  like  o'  you.  Now, 
an  it 's  your  wull  an  plisure,  we  can  fix  it  this  a  way :  haar  's  a 
l;mperance  society,  that  goes  the  hull  as  they  say,  none  o'  your 
nail-way  societies  it  is.  Ivery  mimber  o'  it  is  boond  fast,  sowl  and 
buddy,  not  to  take  a  dhrap  o'  any  fuddlesome  liquor,  ye  see,  saving 
as  a  midiejno.  Now  it 's  Patrick  McClannigan,  that  '11  siy-u  the 
piidgo  o'  that  same  society.'  — '  Do  it,  J'?trick,'  said  1,  '  sud  I  '11 
be  Mrs.  McClannigan  right  away.'  —  He  bhprang  upon  hi*  \aat  and 
wint  off  like  a  shut.  In  liss  nor  an  hour  he  kim  back  wid  a  certi 
ficate,  that  he  had  plidged  himsilf  to  abstain  from  ivery  intoxicating 
liquor  saving  as  a  midicine.  We  was  married,  and  I  'm  tilling  ye 
the  truth  whin  I  say,  that  he  niver  had  a  wall  day  after  that.  He 
drinkt  whiskey  like  a  sponge,  he  did,  and  iver  as  a  midicine.  Whin 
he  got  drunk,  as  he  did  at  Billy  O'Finnigan's  birril,  I  toult  him  he 
had  brukken  his  plidge.  — '  No,  Polly  daar,'  said  he,  'isn't  it 
midicine  for  the  sowl  o'  me?'  But  he  is  did  and  gane,  poor  lad, 
and  I  am  lift  a  dissolute  widdy  once  moor.  I  've  no  great  opinion 
o'  timperance,  ye  may  belaave." 

The  Irish  widow,  by  her  extraordinary  narrative,  had  occasioned 
more  smiles  than  tears.  "  Veil,  mine  goot  voman,"  exclaimed  the 
old  Dutchman,  at  the  termination  of  her  story,  "  you  have  sailed 
upon  VGA  vinegar  voyage,  mitout  coming  to  de  haven  where  you 
vould  pe.  Vat  dish  voman  tell,"  continued  he,  addressing  the  com 
pany,  "  prove  dat  de  only  vay  ish  to  let  de  shtuff  alone,  call  'em  vat 
you  please.  Now,  mynheer,"  looking  at  his  watch,  and  turning  to 
the  elderly  gentleman,  "  dere  vill  pe  moor  dan  von  hour  pefore  ve 

arrive  at .     Vill  you  please  to  give  us  a  leetil  more  of 

your  talk  apout  de  temperance  pisness?  Maype,  you  can  give  us  a 
ehtory  yourself." 


136  THE  STAGE-COACH 


PART    SEVENTH. 

"  The  subject  does  not  appear  to  be  exhausted,"  said  the  elderly 
gentleman,  "  and  I  cannot  refuse  to  comply  with  your  request,  since 
every  other  individual  has  freely  contributed  to  the  common  stock. 

"  Nothing  appears  to  me  less  extraordinary,  than  the  commence 
ment  of  the  temperance  reform  in  the  warfare  against  ardent  spirit 
alone.  Though  used,  more  or  less,  by  all  orders  in  society,  it  was 
emphatically  the  beverage  of  the  humbler  classes.  — It  was  the  poor 
man's  brief  consolation  and  permanent  curse.  —  We  are  more  prone 
to  correct  the  vices  and  follies  of  our  neighbors  than  our  own.  To 
such,  among  the  higher  classes,  as  were  disposed  to  be  philanthro 
pists,  it  was  a  graceful  and  an  acceptable  office,  to  carry  the  banners 
of  moral  reform  among  the  poor.  Yet,  if  education,  rank,  and 
riches  serve  to  aggravate  our  sins,  the  wine  drunkenness  of  the  rich 
was  more  enormous  than  the  rum  drunkenness  of  the  poor.  The 
beam,  therefore,  was  not  unfrequently  found  in  the  rich  man's  eye. 
There  was,  at  the  commencement  of  the  reformation,  as  I  think,  not 
less  intemperance,  proportionally,  in  the  higher  than  in  the  lower 
walks  of  life.  If  this  opinion  should  be  thought  erroneous  by  some, 
let  it  be  remembered,  that  the  rich  are  few  in  number,  and  the  poor 
an  overwhelming  majority.  The  poor  were  not  likely  to  commence 
a  reformation  for  the  rich.  Accordingly,  the  higher  orders  com 
menced  it  for  the  poor.  Rum,  brandy,  gin,  and  whiskey  were 
denounced.  Wines  and  cordials  were  spared.  The  drunkenness 
forbidden  in  holy  writ,  as  every  one  knows,  was  drunkenness  on 
fermented  liquors,  for  distillation  was  then  unknown.  With  him, 
who  is  of  purer  eyes  than  to  behold  iniquity,  it  can  be  no  cause  for 
qualification  ;  it  cannot  vary  .the  character  of  the  offence  the  tithe  of 
a  hair,  that  drunkenness  is  produced  by  one  intoxicating  beverage, 
rather  than  by  another. 

"  The  appetite  for  intoxicating  liquor  has  been  coeval  with  its 
existence.  Drunkenness  has  existed  upon  the  earth,  as  a  personal, 
domestic,  and  national  curse,  since  the  means  of  drunkenness  were 
contrived.  Man,  for  all  the  purposes  of  drunkenness,  is  precisely 
surjh  as  he  was  in  the  wine-making  days  of  Noah  ;  and,  while  simi 
lar  means  of  drunkenness  remain,  similar  effects  will  result  from 
their  employment.  This  appears  to  me  to  be  plain  common  sense. 
No  v,  if  ardent  spirit  should  be  abandoned,  mankind  would  fall  back 
upon  one  fermented  liquor  after  another,  as  a  retreating  army  retires 
successively  upon  its  strong-holds.  I  perceive  no  reason,  therefore, 
why  wine,  if  it  should  ever  become  the  beverage  of  the  people  as  of 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  137 

old,  should  not  work  for  us  the  very  same  miserable  result*,  which 
it  wrought  for  '  all  the  inhabitants  of  Jerusalem,'  in  the  days  of 
Jeremiah.  In  the  narrative,  which  this  poor  woman  has  given  us 
of  her  matrimonial  experiences,  you  perceive,  that  drunkenness  may 
be  produced  by  more  than  one  intoxicating  liquor. 

"  When  the  natural  appetite  for  water  becomes  vitiated,  by  the 
use  of  any  inebriating  liquor,  the  desire  for  the  accustomed  stimulus 
will  induce  the  beer-drinker  and  the  wine-drinker  to  prefer  the  more 
fiery  beverages  to  that  of  God's  appointment,  if  wine  and  beer  are 
not  to  be  obtained.  Nothing,  in  my  opinion,  would  be  gained  by 
mankind,  if  the  highest  achievement  of  the  reformation  were  he 
substitution  of  one  intoxicating  liquor  for  another,  and  such,  I  have 
no  doubt,  would  be  the  result,  if  its  advocates  should  aim  at  the 
abolition  of  ardent  spirits  alone,  permitting  mankind  to  employ  all 
other  inebriating  liquors  at  discretion. 

"  In  the  city  in  which  I  reside,  there  was  a  young  man  of  uncom 
mon  promise,  who  was  well  known  to  me  from  his  earliest  years. 
His  character  and  bearing  were  singularly  lofty.  Meanness,  in  all 
its  forms,  was  sure  to  awaken  his  indignation  and  disgust.  Among 
the  vices  of  mankind,  there  were  few,  which  he  seemed  to  detest  so 
thoroughly,  as  drunkenness.  His  abhorrence  of  a  drunkard  was 
perfectly  Castilian.  This  young  gentleman,  whose  name  was  Ar 
thur  Middleton,  had,  in  his  own  family,  the  most  melancholy  exam 
ples  of  intemperance.  His  two  elder  brothers  had  long  continued 
in  the  habit  of  almost  daily  intoxication.  They  were  both  married, 
and  each  was  surrounded  by  a  group  of  unhappy  little  ones,  destined, 
apparently,  to  that  inheritance  of  ignorance,  poverty,  and  rags, 
which  so  commonly  falls  to  the  lot  of  a  drunkard's  progeny.  The 
contrast,  between  these  unhappy  men  and  their  younger  brother, 
was  singularly  striking.  It  was  precisely  all  that  difference,  which 
lies  between  vicious  poverty  and  honorable  thrift. 

"  After  a  collegiate  education  and  the  regular  term  of  professional 
study,  Arthur  Middleton  had  commenced  the  practice  of  the  law, 
with  no  ordinary  prospect  of  success.  His  brothers  had  not  enjoyed 
the  advantages  of  a  liberal  education.  One  of  them  had  been 
engaged  in  trade  ;  and  the  other,  following  the  plough,  after  the 
example  of  a  worthy  father,  had  been  a  respectable  farmer,  until  he 
became  an  idler  and  a  drunkard.  The  superior  advantages  of  edu 
cation  and  professional  success  were  not  suffered,  by  Arthur  Middle- 
ton,  to  constitute  a  barrier  of  pride  and  selfishness,  between  himself 
and  his  unhappy  brothers.  Upon  more  than  one  occasion,  I  have 
been  deeply  affected,  as  1  have  listened  to  his  elevated  sentiments, 
when  speaking  of  these  misguided  relatives.  '  My  education,'  he 

VOL.  II.  12* 


138  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

would  often  say,  *  has  placed  me,  I  trust,  far  beyond  the  reach  of 
this  vulgar  liability.  God  has  prospered  me  in  my  affairs.  I  have 
acquired  some  property,  some  reputation,  perhaps.  Show  me  the 
way,  in  which  I  can  employ  all  that  God  has  given  me,  more  accep 
tably  in  his  sight,  than  by  flying  to  the  rescue  of  my  unhappy 
brothers.  They  are  the  children  of  my  father  and  of  my  mother. 
They  were  the  companions  —  the  playmates  of  my  childhood.  I 
can  never  forget  a  parent's  dying  injunction,  as  he  took  a  hand  of  us 
each,  within  his  own,  gave  us  his  parting  benediction,  and  bade  us 
love  one  another.  They  are  sadly  intemperate,  it  is  true,  —  but  I 
will  be  the  last  to  despair  of  theij  reformation.' 

"  For  the  accomplishment  of  this  important  object,  and  under  a 
strong  consciousness  of  duty,  he  suffered  no  expedient  tc  remain 
unemployed.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  was  completely  successful. 
The  painful  relation,  in  which  he  stood  to  these  unhappy  men,  had 
very  naturally  drawn  him  into  closer  connection  with  temperance 
men  and  temperance  measures.  He  became  an  active  and  efficient 
member,  and,  finally,  an  officer  of  a  temperance  society.  The 
application  of  such  means,  as  were  thus  brought  within  his  reach, 
enabled  him  to  exert  that  happy  influence  upon  his  two  brothers, 
which  finally  produced  their  perfect  reformation.  He  became,  under 
God,  the  minister  of  happiness  to  these  two  miserable  families,  and 
enabled  them  to  gather  once  again  in  peace  around  their  firesides." 

The  elderly  gentleman  paused  for  a  moment,  and,  with  evident 
emotion,  continued  as  follows  :  —  "  Arthur  Middleton  had  long  been 
attached  to  a  love"ly  girl,  a  distant  connection  of  his  own.  She  was 
very  young,  and  his  admirable  qualities  of  head  and  heart  seemed 
not,  for  a  time,  to  be  as  carefully  weighed  by  her,  as  they  might 
have  been,  in  the  balance  of  some  graver  spinster.  It  was  my  for 
tune  to  be  the  first,  who  related  in  her  hearing  the  circumstances,  to 
which  I  have  just  now  referred.  She  appeared  to  listen  with  un 
usual  interest.  I  was  entirely  willing,  that  she  should  have  in  her 
possession  the  most  ample  materials,  for  judging  correctly  of  this 
excellent  young  man.  I  exhibited  before  her  the  wretched,  fallen 
state  of  these  miserable  men,  — the  sufferings  of  their  wives,  — the 
worse  than  fatherless  condition  of  their  children,  —  the  entire  ab 
sence  of  every  gleam  of  happiness  from  their  firesides,  —  the  pros 
pect  before  them  of  committing,  sooner  or  later,  to  the  drunkard's 
grave,  their  husbands,  —  their  fathers,  —  once  the  objects  of  their 
love  and  reverence.  I  contrasted  this  sickening  picture  with  another, 
and  bade  her  look  on  that.  I  set  before  her  imagination  the  samo 
unhappy  men,  sacrificing  their  idols  upon  the  altars  of  domestic 
repose  — shaking  off  the  bandages  of  a  moral  death,  —  taking  once 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  139 

BOOTS  into  their  hands  the  implements  of  honest  industry,  and  no 
longer  converting  its  avails  into  the  means  of  misery ,  but  into  bread, 
that  their  little  ones  might  eat  and  live.  I  bade  her  contemplate  the 
beggar's  rags  exchanged  for  comfortable  raiment,  —  the  drunkard's 
cheerless  hearth  for  the  happy  cottager's  fireside.  '  This  change,' 
said  I,  '  under  the  merciful  providence  of  God,  is  entirely  attributable 
to  the  zeal,  and  energy,  and  brotherly  love,  of  our  young  friend.' 
For  the  first  time,  as  I  believe,  that  sentiment  was  awakened  in  the 
heart  of  this  amiable  girl,  which  ultimately  ripened  into  the  most 
demoted  affection.  As  I  concluded  my  simple  narrative,  and  while 
she  was  brushing  the  tear  from  her  eye,  the  door  opened,  and  Ar 
thur  Middleton  entered  the  apartment.  —  Nothing  has  ever  appeared 
more  lovely,  since  the  fall  of  man,  than  certain  impulses  of  the 
youthful  heart,  —  as  yet  unsullied  by  the  world's  alloy, — chaste, 
and  unsuspecting,  and  all  untrammelled  by  those  ceremonious  usages 
and  laws,  which  belong,  of  right,  to  social  intercourse,  and  which  it 
is  by  no  means  my  purpose  to  condemn.  This  young  gentleman 
no  sooner  entered  the  apartment,  than  Margaret  Alston  rose  from 
her  chair,  and  walked  earnestly  towards  him.  *  I  am  delighted  to 
see  you,  Mr.  Middleton,'  said  she,  giving  him  her  hand.  Arthur 
Middleton  was  evidently  embarrassed  by  this  unexpected  salutation, 
from  one,  of  whose  coldness  or  indifference  he  had  hitherto  believed 
himself  entitled  to  complain  ;  and  Margaret  herself,  abashed  by  the 
consciousness  of  her  own  precipitation,  somewhat  awkwardly  re 
sumed  her  seat  and  her  needle-work.  '  We  were  speaking,  Mr. 
Middleton,'  said  I,  with  the  intention  of  removing  the  unpleasant 
sensation  as  speedily  as  possible,  — '  we  were  speaking  of  the  happy 
result  of  your  efforts  for  the  reformation  of  your  two  brothers.'  — 
'  The  change  in  their  condition  is  truly  wonderful,'  he  replied.  *  I 
yesterday  returned  from  a  visit  to  Geoffrey,  my  oldest  brother.  I 
passed  the  Sabbath  with  his  family,  and,  I  can  truly  aver,  the  hap 
piest  Sabbath  of  my  life.  He  has  five  girls  and  one  boy,  —  and  six 
i  lovelier  children  I  never  beheld.  I  had  not  been  half  an  hour  in  the 
cottage,  before  Tim,  their  little  boy,  who  is  about  seven  years  old, 
took  me  down  into  the  field,  and  showed  me  a  spot  underneath  an 
old  walnut,  where  the  green  sward  appeared  to  have  been  broken. 
"  Daddy's  jug  is  buried  there,"  said  the  child ;  "  he  broke  it  on  that 
stone,  when  he  left  off  drinking,  and  the  next  day  he  said  he  could  n't 
bear  to  see  the  pieces  ;  so  he  buried  'em.  Daddy  prays  every  night 
out  loud  now,  that  God  would  help  him  to  keep  his  pledge  and  drink 
no  more  rum.  He  asks  mother  to  pray  for  him  too.  Daddy  lets 
me  ride  jack-horse  on  his  knee,  just  as  he  used  to.  I  aan't  a  mite 
afeard  on  him  now.  He  don't  kick  the  children  into  the  fire,  when 


140  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

they  're  a-parching  corn,  as  he  did  once.  Uncle  John  's  left  off 
too.  He  was  here  last  week.  He  and  father  used  to  quarrel,  but 
they  've  made  all  up.  When  he  used  to  come  here,  daddy  always 
got  out  the  jug,  and  mother  used  to  say  we  should  have  trouble 
afore  long ;  and  so  she  got  us  all  out  o'  the  way  over  to  Deacon 
Blaney's.  But  when  uncle  John  come  last  week,  and  brought  aunt 
Sukey,  they  did  n't  have  any  such  thing ;  and,  afore  uncle  John  went 
away,  daddy  didn't  get  out  any  jug,  but  he  got  out  mother's  Bible, 
and  read  a  chapter,  and  then  he  prayed,  and  uncle  John  prayed, 
that  God  would  keep  'em  both  from  drinking  any  more  rum ;  and 
mother  and  aunt  Sukey  cried  like  all  possessed."  —  When  Sabbath 
morning  came,'  continued  Mr.  Middleton,  '  my  brother  Geoffrey's 
wife  expressed  some  little  uneasiness  on  account  of  little  Tim's 
threadbare  apparel.  "  Never  mind,  wife,"  said  Geoffrey,  "  God 
looks  at  the  heart ;  —  let  :s  pray  to  be  able  to  mend  that ;  —  I  don't 
believe  the  Lord  will  mind  Tim's  old  clothes ;  and,  afore  another 
Sabbath,  maybe  we'll  do  better."  : 

"We  were  deeply  affected,"  continued  the  elderly  gentleman, 
"  with  Arthur  Middleton  ?s  account.  From  the  period  of  this  inter 
view,  the  relation  between  this  young  man  and  the  object  of  his 
affections  became  of  a  closer  character.  Ere  long,  she  announced 
to  her  parents,  that  Mr.  Middleton  had  made  her  proposals  of 
marriage.  Their  approbation  was  cheerfully  bestowed,  and  the 
young  lady  received  a  full  moiety  of  all  those  felicitations,  which 
commonly  abound  upon  such  occasions  as  these.  Such  were  the 
talents,  character,  and  prospects,  of  Arthur  Middleton,  that  Marga 
ret  Alston  was  universally  accounted  a  most  fortunate  girl.  —  They 
were  married.  — They  were  happy.  — In  little  more  than  a  twelve 
month,  she  gave  birth  to  a  lovely  girl. — His  professional  prospects 
were  unclouded.  —  At  this  period  of  his  life,  he  gave  a  willing  ear 
to  the  suggestions  of  his  political  associates  and  friends,  who  endeav 
ored  to  persuade  him,  that  his  talents  and  accomplishments  were  not 
altogether  the  private  property  of  their  possessor.  Accordingly,  he 
entered  upon  the  career  of  public  life.  With  those,  whose  suffrages 
contributed  to  place  him  among  the  legislators  of  his  native  com 
monwealth,  the  friends  of  the  temperance  reform  were  delighted  to 
cooperate ;  and  they  had  no  occasion  to  regret  his  election.  His 
efforts  to  correct  the  evils  of  the  license  system,  so  far  as  it  is  sus 
ceptible  of  legislative  amendment,  were  indefatigable.  Mr.  Middle- 
ton's  manner  of  life  could  not,  with  perfect  propriety,  be  styled 
extravagant.  He  was  exceedingly  hospitable,  and  a  liberal  enter 
tainer.  His  income  at  no  time  exceeded  the  limit  of  his  expendi 
ture.  He  was  never  able  to  say  that  he  had  laid  up  a  farthing,  at 
the  close  of  any  year. 


THE  STAGE-COACH.'  141 

**  In  addition  to  his  professional  and  political  engagements,  the 
temperance  cause  levied  no  ordinary  tax  upon  his  time  and  toil. 
He  had  occasionally  lectured  upon  several  of  its  interesting  topics 
with  the  happiest  effect ;  and  he  suffered  no  occasion  to  pass  unim 
proved,  for  the  reformation  of  intemperate  men. 

"  Notwithstanding  his  natural  temperament,  which  was  uncom 
monly  ardent,  Mr.  Middleton  was  remarkable  for  his  entire  self-pos 
session  a*,  .he  bar.  I  never  recollect,  but  on  one  occasion,  to  have 
seen  him  manifestly  nettled,  and  so  thoroughly  confused,  that  he 
was  utterly  unable  to  reply.  Three  young  men,  students  in  the 
university,  were  indicted  for  an  aggravated  assault  and  battery  upon 
a  farmer,  somewhat  advanced  in  years.  I  presided  at  the  trial  of 
this  indictment.  Mr.  Middleton  was  counsel  for  the  young  men, 
and  endeavored  to  prove,  that  the  old  man  was  drunk,  and  the 
aggressor.  It  was  clearly  shown  that  he  had  drunk  five  glasses  of 
rum,  during  the  day,  upon  which  the  assault  and\>attery  occurred, 
and  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  drinking  ardent,  spirit.  This  testi 
mony  was  rebutted,  by  the  evidence  of  an  experienced  dram-seller, 
well  qualified  to  judge,  from  his  knowledge  of  the  old  man's  habits. 
The  dram -seller  testified,  that  he  had  sold  him  rum  almost  daily,  for 
twenty  years ;  —  and  that  he  could  drink  three  times  that  number 
of  drams  in  a  day,  without  being  drunk;  and  that  he  was  remark 
able  in  the  parish  for  the  strength  of  his  head.  Other  witnesses  cor 
roborated  this  testimony  ;  and  it  was  proved  that  the  old  farmer  had 
made  some  shrewd  bargains,  a  very  short  time  before  the  rencounter. 
On  the.  other  hand,  it  was  shown  to  the  entire  satisfaction 'of  the 
jury,  that  the  young  men,  one  and  all,  were  unquestionably  drunk  ; 
—  that  they  were  members  —  in  good  standing  —  of  the  Porcellian 
Club  ; — that  they  had  just  come  forth,  at  the  time  of  the  assault, 
from  a  Porcellian  dinner ;  —  and  that  they  had  drunken  no  stronger 
intoxicating  liquor  than  wine.  At  that  time,  the  principles  of  the 
temperance  reformation  were  less  perfectly  understood,  than  they 
are  at  the  present  day.  Mr.  Middleton,  though  strenuously  op 
posed  to  the  use  of  ardent  spirit,  was  in  the  daily  practice  of  taking 
his  wine,  and  putting  his  bottle  to  his  neighbor!  In  the  then  exist 
ing  condition  of  the  temperance  reform,  a  proposal  to  abstain  from 
wine,  ana1  all  other  fermented  liquors,  would  have  been  rejected  as 
thoroughly  absurd,  by  an  overwhelming  majority  of  all  those,  who 
had  set  their  names  to  the  temperance  pledge.  It  would  have  been 
thought  impossible  to  get  along  with  the  common  courtesies  of 
social  intercourse,  without  this  wonderful  promoter  of  '  the  feast  of 
reason  and  the  flow  of  soul '.'  Mr.  Middleton  evinced  considerable 
irritation,  when  he  perceived,  that  the  old  rum-drinking  farmer  was 


142  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

likely  to  escape  the  imputation  of  drunkenness,  on  the  present  occa 
sion  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  the  charge  was  effectually  fastened  upon 
his  gentlemanly  clients,  whose  beverage  was  wine.  In  the  course  of 
his  defence,  he  became  extremely  sharp  upon  the  old  farmer ;  referred 
to  his  notorious  habits ;  and  spoke,  with  unsparing  severity,  of  the 
venders  and  partakers  of  ardent  spirit.  When  the  prosecuting  offi 
cer  had  closed  for  the  government,  the  old  farmer  rose,  and  requested 
permission  to  say  a  few  words,  which  I  readily  granted.  — '  Please 
your  honor,'  said  the  old  man,  '  'Squire  Middleton  don't  think  worse 
of  ardent  spirits  than  I  do.  I  know  they  've  done  a  great  deal  of 
mischief  in  the  world,  and  perhaps  very  little  good,  if  any.  I  can 
go  into  the  graveyard  in  our  village,  and  put  my  foot  agin  the  head 
stone  of  more  than  a  hundred,  who,  in  the  course  of  nature,  might 
have  lived  as  long  as  I  have,  but  whom  rum  has  carried  to  the 
drunkard's  grave.  'Squire  Middleton  isn't  more  in  favor  of  the 
temperance  cause" than  I  am.  I've  three  sons  and  two  daughters. 
I  made  all  five  on  'em  sign  the  pledge.  I  advise  everybody  elso 
to  do  the  same  thing.  Your  honor  wonders,  maybe,  why  I  don't 
sign  it  myself.  Please  your  honor,  I  'se  got  a  dreadful  strong  head. 
I  wouldn't  have  anybody  justify  himself  by  my  example;  for  I 
never  met  the  man  that  could  drink  as  I  can,  without  feeling  the 
effects  on 't.  'Squire  Middleton 's  a  great  temperance  man,  please 
your  honor,  and  he  says  we  all  ought  to  leave  off,  if  it 's  only  for  ttie 
sake  of  the  example  to  other  folks.  Your  honor  sees  as  how  the 
young  blades  was  all  drunk,  though  'twas  only  on  wine  ;  and  that 
I  wasn't  drunk,  though  I  never  denied  that  I'd  taken  a  few 
glasses  of  rum  and  water  that  day.  Now,  'Squire  Middleton  won't 
deny,  I  s'pose,  that  rum  won't  make'some  folks  drunk,  and  that  wins 
will.  Please  your  honor,  I  think  well  enough  of  the  'squire,  and  am 
sorry  he  seems  to  think  so  poorly  of  me.  It  '11  come  proper  hard 
for  me  to  give  up  spirit.  1  've  used  it  more  than  fifty  years.  How- 
somever,  I  '11  make  the  'squire  an  offer  here  afore  the  court ;  —  I  '11 
give  up  rum,  and  brandy,  and  gin,  and  the  like  of  them  are,  if  the 
'squire '11  give  up  wine,  and  beer,  and  cider,  and  sich  as  they. — 
Come,  'Squire  Middleton,  what  d'ye  say  to  that1?'  The  court 
room  resounded  with  peals  of  laughter,  which  the  officers  found  it 
no  easy  matter  to  suppress. 

"  '  It  is  somewhat  difficult,'  said  Mr.  Middleton,  as  we  met  in  the 
evening,  '  to  furnish  a  sufficient  reply,  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
to  such  an  unexpected  proposal  as  that,  which  old  Barnicoat  ten 
dered  to  me  in  court  to-day.'  — '  The  easiest  thing  in  the  wor.d.' 
I  replied.  —  'And  how  so?'  he  inquired. — 'Close  with  the  old 
oaan's  proposition  at  once,'  I  rejoined.  It  was  very  evident  that  he 


I  HE  STAGE-COACH.  143 

«UJ  not  relish  my  suggestion,  and  the  conversation  ?oon  found  its 
w<vy  into  some  other  channel. 

"  Not  long  after  this  occurrence,  the  friends  of  the  temperance 
ca»se,  perceiving,  as  they  supposed,  the  insufficiency  of  the  pledge 
of  abstinence  from  ardent  spirits  alone,  began  to  agitate  the  question 
of  abstinence  from  all  intoxicating  drinks.  Meetings  were  fre 
quently  called,  for  the  purpose  of  discussing  this  interesting  topic. 
The  society,  of  which  Mr.  Middleton  had  long  been  a  distinguished 
member;  adjourned  its  meetings  for  six  successive  evenings.  Mr. 
Middleton  himself  argued  against  the  extension  of  the  pledge,  with 
more  than  all  his  usual  zeal  and  ingenuity.  It  was  nevertheless 
decided,  by  an  overwhelming  majority,  to  assume  higher  ground,  and 
to  adopt  the  pledge  of  abstinence  from  all  intoxicating  drinks.  :  Mr. 
Middleton,  with  two  or  three  others,  who  refused  to  sign  the  new 
pledge,  were  necessarily  excommunicated,  or  rather  ceased  to  be 
members  of  the  temperance  society.  He  joined  in  the  common  cry, 
that  the  cause  of  temperance  was  at  an  end,  and  that  the  ultraism  of 
its  misguided  and  over-zealous  friends  had  brought  destruction  upon 
one  of  the  most  noble  of  all  human  undertakings.  From  this  mo 
ment,  he  never  spoke  of  the  cause,  nor  of  its  advocates,  without  an 
expression  of  disgust  and  even  bitterness. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone.  No  one  is  more  sensible 
of  this  profitable  truth,  than  a  dissenter  from  those  opinions,  which 
are  acquiring  an  extensive  popularity.  His  peculiar  sentiments 
appear  too  valuable,  in  his  own  estimation,  for  his  exclusive  enjoy 
ment  ;  and  he  is  forever  uneasy,  unless  he  is  employed  as  a  propa 
gandist.  Truth  may  be  enjoyed  by  its  happy  proprietor,  in  perfect 
silence.  Heresy  commonly  affords  little  pleasure,  unless  some  wil 
ling  ear  is  at  hand,  to  receive  our  doubts  and  relieve  us  of  our  the 
cries.  The  Christian  is  happy  in  close  communion  with  his  God 
The  infidel  is  ever  restless,  unless  engaged  in  the  promulgation  of 
his  unbelief.  The  wine-drinking  members  of  old-fashioned  temper 
ance  societies,  are  commonly,  more  or  less,  conscious  of  their  incon 
sistency.  There  are  many  degrees  between  the  very  first  impres 
sion  of  that  inconsistency,  vague  and  undefined  as  it  occasionally  is, 
arid  that  full  conviction,  which  speedily  converts  the  midway  tem- 
r.erance  man  into  a  tee-totaller.  Private  reflection,  upon  this  inter 
esting  topic,  is  frequently  preferable  to  public  discussion.  In  the 
tatter  course,  sides  are  to  be  taken,  and  opinions  maintained.  Mr. 
Middleton  had  long  been  esteemed  a  social  and  convivial  man. 
During  the  discussion,  to  which  I  have  referred,  it  was  not  to  be 
expected,  that  either  party  should  forbear  the  exhibition  of  any 
•rgument,  which  could  be  legitimately  brought  to  bear  upon  the 


'44  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

question.  Frequent  allusion  was  made  to  those  selfish  and 
motives,  which  governed  many,  who  were  unwilling  to  extend  t\  c 
pledge.  Their  attachment  for  the  bottle  became  a  subject  of  corsid 
erable  mirth.  It  was  true,  upon  this,  as  it  has  been  elsewhero 
upon  many  similar  occasions,  that  almost  every  individual,  who 
opposed  the  extension  of  the  temperance  pledge,  was  in  the  habit  of 
using  fermented  liquor,  with  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  moderation. 
No  one  gave  stronger  evidence  of  personal  irritation  than  Mr.  Mid- 
dleton.  I  expressed  my  surprise  to  an  old  friend,  as  we  were  leav 
ing  the  assembly  one  evening.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
observed,  that  'Squire  Middleton  drank  more  wine  than  was  good 
for  him.  I  was  greatly  shocked  by  this  remark ;  for  I  had  never 
suspected  before,  that  he  was  an  intemperate  man. 

"It  was  very  evident  to  me,  that  Mr.  Middleton  had  lost  his 
interest  in  the  temperance  cause.  He  levied  the  most  open  and 
unrelenting  warfare  against  the  advocates  of  total  abstinence,  and 
devoted  a  large  amount  of  his  leisure  moments  to  an  exposition  of 
their  madness  and  folly. 

"  My  position,  in  regard  to  this  young  gentleman  and  his  wife, 
gave  me  sufficient  authority  for  directing  my  attention  more  closely 
to  his  habits  of  life.  In  connection  with  the  remark  of  my  old 
friend,  I  recollected,  that,  during  my  recent  visits  at  Mr.  Middle- 
ton's  house,  I  had  noticed  some  indications  of  anxiety  on  the  coun 
tenance  of  his  wife.  They  did  not  appear  so  perfectly  happy  in 
each  other's  society  of  late,  and  I  began  to  charge  myself  with  stu 
pidity,  for  not  having  been  more  forcibly  impressed  by  these  appear 
ances.  The  next  morning,  I  called  at  his  house :  it  was  shortly 
after  breakfast,  and  he  had  already  gone  abroad.  Margaret  was 
walking  the  room  with  her  little  girl.  I  came  rather  abruptly  into 
the  apartment ;  and,  as  I  entered,  I  heard  the  little  girl  exclaim, 
'Don't  cry,  dear  mother.'  She  was  in  tears,  and  turned  towards 
the  window  to  conceal  them.  I  took  her  hand,  and  affectionately 
inquired  after  the  cause  of  her  sorrow.  After  some  hesitation  she 
admitted,  that  her  husband's  affairs  were  somewhat  embarrassed. 
'And  is  this  the  only  occasion  of  your  tears?'  I  inquired.  '  1  cannot 
bear,'  she  replied,  '  to  see  Mr.  Middleton  so  terribly  excited,  as  he 
often  is,  by  these  temperance  discussions.'  —  'And  pray,'  said  I,  'is 
he  ever  excited  from  any  other  cause?'  —  She  gazed  at  me  intently 
for  an  instant,  and  burst  into  tears.  The  position,  in  which  I  stood 
to  this  lady,  as  I  have  already  stated,  warranted  the  freedom  of  my 
inquiry,  and  the  fulness  of  her  reply.  She  frankly  told  me,  at  last, 
that  she  was  alarmed  for  the  consequences  of  his  habit  of  indul 
gence  ;  and  that,  although  he  never  tasted  ardent  spirit  in  any  form. 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  145 

his  free  use  of  wine  and  other  fermented  liquors  had  material!? 
affected  his  temper  and  lessened  her  happiness.  She  informed  me, 
that  her  tears,  which  I  had  noticed  upon  my  first  arrival,  had  been 
occasioned  by  a  sharp  reprimand  from  her  husband,  while  dissuad 
ing  him  from  giving  a  dinner-party,  which  he  could  not  afford.  She 
idded  that  it  was  settled,  nevertheless,  against  her  counsel,  and 
would  take  place  the  ensuing  week.  She  said,  that  her  husband 
intended  to  invite  me.  and  I  promised  to  accept  the  invitation.  I 
offered  such  counsel,  as  I  thought  adapted  to  her  situation,  and 
took  my  leave. 

"  Without  the  slightest  committal  of  Mr.  Midd'.eton's  reputation, 
1  gave  a  fair  occasion  to  others  to  speak  freely  of  his  habits  in  my 
hearing.  I  soon  discovered,  to  my  sorrow,  that  he  had,  for  some 
time,  been  accounted  an  intemperate  man.  As  a  zealous  member  of 
the  temperance  society,  he  had  been  placed  aloof  from  all  suspicion  ; 
and  the  whole  common  sense  of  the  framers  of  the  old-fashioned 
temperance  pledge  seemed  completely  to  negative  the  idea  of  intem 
perance,  on  wine.  I  found,  that  a  very  common  impression  pre 
vailed  of  his  incompetency,  as  a  business  man,  in  the  after-part  of  the 
day  ;  and  that  his  particular  case  was  very  generally  cited  by  those, 
who  desired  to  prove,  by  example,  the  utter  insufficiency  of  the 
pledge  of  abstinence  from  ardent  spirits  alone. 

"  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  to  have  a  full  and  frank  conversation 
with  this  young  man.  I  was  revolving  the  subject  in  my  thoughts, 
and  devising  the  most  suitable  plan  for  its  execution,  when  he  called 
to  invite  me  to  dine  with  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mockturtle,  our  new  clergy 
man,  and  a  few  friends,  on  the  following  day.  I  was  half  inclined 
to  refuse,  or  to  accept  on  condition  that  wine  should  not  be  intro 
duced.  On  further  reflection,  however,  I  decided  to  accept  the 
invitation,  and  seek  a  more  suitable  opportunity  for  the  expression 
of  my  opinions.  The  impressions,  which  I  had  recently  gathered 
of  his  intemperate  habit,  induced  me  to  regard  his  appearance  and 
manner  more  carefully ;  and  I  noticed  in  his  countenance  the  marks 
and  numbers  of  dissipation,  which  I  had  never  observed  before. 

"  When  I  entered  Mr.  Middleton's  parlor,  upon  the  following 
day.  I  found  the  guests  already  assembled,  with  the  exception  of  our 
new  clergyman,  for  whom  the  entertainment  was  made.  The  host 
and  hostess  were,  from  some  cause,  not  perfectly  at  ease.  An  illy- 
concealed  anxiety  was  too  plainly  visible  upon  the  countenance  of 
Mrs.  Middleton,  wrhich  it  was  painful  to  observe.  After  the  lapse 
of  half  an  hour,  the  door  opened,  and  the  long-expected  guest  madb 
his  entree.  The  Rev.  Paul  Mockturtle  was  about  five  and  forty 
years  of  age,  unusually  short,  round,  and  rubicund.  He  was  evi- 

VOL.   II.  13 


146  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

dently,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  a  man  for  both  worlds,  having 
no  intention  of  relaxing  his  hold  of  the  present,  until  he  had  secured 
a  firm  grasp  upon  a  better.  I  never  looked  upon  a  face  of  clay  in 
which  the  muscles  were  so  wonderfully  pliable  ;  nor  have  I  ever 
seen  an  individual,  whose  tones  of  voice  and  general  manner  were 
so  instantaneously  variable  —  valuable  qualifications,  beyond  all 
doubt,  for  an  individual,  who  is  called,  at  one  moment,  to  mourn 
with  those  who  mourn,  and  the  very  next,  to  rejoice  with  those  who 
rejoice. 

"  We  were  soon  ushered  into  the  dining-parlor.  The  blessing 
was  craved  most  reverentially,  by  the  Rev.  Paul  Mockturtle  ;  and, 
from  the  position  of  his  expanded  hands  and  the  curvature  of  his 
body,  it  seemed  to  be  especially  bestowed  on  a  capacious  oyster-pie, 
upon  which  he  subsequently  made  a  lion's  repast,  whetting  his  appe 
tite  with  an  occasional  glass  of  wine,  and  clearing  his  fauces  with 
one  or  two  tumblers  of  London  porter.  Nothing  could  be  done  in  a 
more  workmanlike  style.  Short  ejaculations  and  brief  responses 
now  and  then  interrupted  the  work  of  consumption.  —  'Poor  Mrs. 
Davidson  has  lost  her  husband,  doctor,'  said  Deacon  Eldridge. 
'  God  have  mercy  upon  her,'  cried  the  doctor ;  '  a  few  more  oysters, 
Mrs.  Middleton,  if  you  please.  Dear  me,  this  is  a  world  of  sorrow 
—  you  have  a  French  cook,  madam,  no  doubt.' 

"  I  had  already  seen  and  heard  enough  to  excite  my  contempt  for 
our  new  clergyman.  He  was  elected,  during  my  absence  in  a 
neighboring  state,  and  I  felt  some  little  satisfaction  in  the  conscious 
ness  of  my  irresponsibility  for  such  a  selection. 

"  The  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  wine  began  to  circulate.  After 
some  general  conversation,  a  remark  from  Deacon  Eldridge  turned 
the  attention  of  the  company  to  the  subject  of  temperance.  I  was  not 
sorry  for  this,  as  I  was  desirous  of  affording  our  new  clergyman  an 
opportunity  of  exhibiting  his  sentiments.  '  Old  Anthony  Jones,  the 
undertaker,  is  dead,'  said  Deacon  Eldridge.  —  'A  wretched  drunk 
ard,'  said  Mr.  Middleton  — '  we  should  have  reformed  that  poor  fel 
low,  if — fill  your  glass,  doctor,  — if  it  had  not  been  for  the  suicidal 
conduct  of  our  temperance  society  —  perhaps  you  prefer  the  Sherry, 
Deacon  Eldridge.'  — '  Old  Anthony,'  said  Mr.  Snakeroot,  the  apoth 
ecary  '  was  eternally  drunk  with  beer  ;  he  did  n't  take  much  ardent 
spirit '  —  *  Could  n't  be,  sir,'  cried  Mr.  Middleton  ;  '  impossible  — 
John,  some  clean  glasses  and  the  old  Monteiro, — no  man  ever 
became  a  drunkard,  a  real  drunkard,  on  beer,  Mr.  Snakeroot.'  — 
'  Anthony  Jones  was  a  terrible  drunkard,  Mr.  Middleton,'  replied  the 
druggist.  —  'No  doubt  of  that,  sir  ;  but  he  drank  rum,  sir,  rum,  sir, 
rtm  rum,  New  England  rum ;  depend  upon  it  as  certainly  as  your 


THE  STAGE-CO ACIL  147 

name  is  Snakeroot.  There,  Doctor  Mockturtle,  what  d'  ye  say  to 
that?'  —  'Nectar,  Mr.  Middleton,  nectar,  indeed  it  is ;  but  your  Sh  — 
Sherry  is  incomparably  fine  ;  did  you  imp  —  ort  it  yomself  ?'  — '  Yes, 
sir  — no,  sir,  not  exactly  the  Sherry  — John,  open  the  Champagne, 

—  fill  the  doctor's  glass,  — Joly's  brand,  my  dear  doctor.'  — '  Excel 
lent,  most  excellent,  my  very  dear  friend,'  cried  the  doctor,  who  was 
palpably  the  worse  for  liquor.  —  '  Dr.  Mockturtle,'  cried  Mr.  Hoogs, 
one  of  the  most  influential  members  of  our  parish,  '  I  should  like  to 
have  your  opinion  of  the  temperance  society.'  —  '  Sir,'  replied  the 
doctor,  drawing  himself  up,  and  holding  fast  upon  the  arms  of  his 
chair,  and  turning  upon  Hoogs  the  only  eye  which  was  entirely  open, 
1  it's    done   up,  sir,  —  dephlogisticated,  —  extinct,  —  and   defunct, 
body  and  spirit.     It 's  all  over  with  it  now,  sir.     It 's  ultraism,  sir. 

—  Is  n't  this  a  good  creature  of  God  ?  that 's  my  argument,  sir, — 
the  glass  is  empty,  Mr.  Mid  —  Middlington,  a  little  more,  if  you  are 
ag^eable,  sir.     My  health  is  delicate,  sir,  and  I  follow  the  direction 
of  the  apostle,  and  take  a  little  for  my — my  stomach  ache  and  often 
infirmities.     My  learned  friend,  Dr.  Tweedles,  does  the  same  thing. 
He  is  an  in  —  invaletudinarian,  and  requires  it.     He  is  in  the  habit 
of  taking  a  little,  but  he  does  not  take  it  habitually.     The  fanatics 
have  set  no  bounds  to  their  audacity.     Dr.  Tweedles  tells  me,  sir, 
that  a  member  of  his  society  had  the  impudence  to  adulterate  the 
communion  wine,  —  good,  old,  strong-bodied  Madeira,  —  by  putting 
spring  water  into  it.     What  an  unhallowed  innovation!'  —  'You. 
don't  say  so,  doctor!'  cried  Deacon  Eldridge,  holding  up  his  hands 
and  rolling  his  eyes  aloft  with  an  expression  of  horror.  — '  Yes, 
sir,'  replied  the  doctor,  '  I  do  say  so,  —  it 's  nothing  less  than  sac 
rilege,  sir. — For  my  own  part  —  I'll   take  a  little  more  of  the 
Champagne,  if  you  please,  my  dear  sir  —  I  was  going  to  observe  — 
to  remark  that  a  —  bless  me,  it's  gone  out  of  my  head  —  O — ah 

—  yes,  yes,  I've  got  it  —  I  was  going  to  say  everything  done  by 
our  blessed  Redeemer  was  sacred.     His  example  is  enough  for  me. 
I  make  it  a  point  to  take  wine  at  weddings  always,  and  it  never 
tastes  so  good,  because  I  do  it  in  honor  of  rny  Redeemer.     Dr. 
Tweedles  does  the  same  thing.'  —  'I   always   do,'  said   Deacon 
Eldridge.  — '  So  do  I,'  said  Mr.  Hoogs.     Six  or  eight  of  the  com 
pany  affirmed,  that  they  were  in  the  same  habit.  —  'I  '11  tell  you 
what  it  is,'  cried  Mr.  Middleton,  who,  though  he  had  been  silent, 
had  not  been  idle  —  'I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,'  said  he,  with  an  exces 
sively  flushed  and  excited  countenance  ;  '  it 's  all  a  humbug  —  I  'm 
sick  of  it,  and  by  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  doctor.'  —  '  O,  my  dear 
friend,'  said  the  doctor  in  a  sleepy  voice,  '  no  sort  of  occasion,  I 
assure  you.'  —  'Doctor  Mockturtle,'  continued  Mr.  Middleton,  '  our 


148  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

notions  correspond  exactly,  and  I  'm  rejoiced  that  you  've  —  fill  your 
glass  —  that  you  've  come  among  us.  Was  there  ever  such  an 
infernal  piece  of  non  —  nonsense  as  the  notion,  that  men  of  character 
and  standing  can  get  drunk  on  good  old  Madeira?'  —  '  Never,  my 
dear  friend,'  replied  the  doctor,  '  never,  never.  Why  diminish  our 
com  —  comforts,  why  take  away  our  innocent  rec — rec  —  recrea 
tions?' —  'Sure  enough,'  cried  two  or  three  of  the  company. 
1  Thesp  temperance  folks  are  certainly  carrying  matters  to  ex 
tremes,'  said  Deacon  Eldridge  ;  '  pray,  judge,'  continued  the  dea 
con,  turning  to  me,  '  don't  you  think  they  're  going  too  fast  and  too 
far?'  —  I  had  continued  almost  entirely  silent  during  this  entertain 
ment,  which  had  afforded  anything  but  pleasure  to  me.  Mrs.  Mid- 
dleton  had  retired,  as  soon  as  the  common  courtesy  of  the  table 
would  permit,  and  I  had  remained  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  from  the 
carriage  of  her  husband,  the  nature  and  extent  of  his  intemperate 
habit.  I  was  perfectly  convinced  from  all  that  I  saw,  in  connection 
with  all  that  I  had  healed,  that  his  love  for  intoxicating  liquor  was 
the  sin,  that  most  easily  beset  him;  and  that,  unless  immediately 
vanquished,  it  would  inevitably  bring  ruin  upon  himself,  and  misery 
upon  his  household.  I  perceived,  that  my  presence  was  embarrass 
ing  to  Mr.  Middleton,  and  I  was  upon  the  point  of  withdrawing, 
when  called  out  by  the  inquiry  of  Deacon  Eldridge.  On  the  whole, 
I  was  not*  disposed  to  regret  so  fair  an  occasion  for  expressing  those 
opinions,  which  my  position,  as  a  guest,  would  have  prevented  me 
from  obtruding  upon  such  a  company.  '  Deacon  Eldridge,'  said  I, 
in  reply  to  his  interrogatory,  '  I  foresee  no  great  danger  from  the 
rapid  progress  of  the  reformation.  Excesses,  if  such  there  are, 
will  probably  correct  themselves.  You  well  know  my  opinions, 
deacon;  they  are  those  of  a  cold-water  man.' — These  last  words 
seemed  to  awaken  Dr.  Mockturtle  from  the  lethargy,  which  had 
been  evidently  getting  the  better  of  his  energies  for  some  time  past. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  him,  in  all  probability,  that  any  diversity 
of  opinion,  upon  the  subject  before  us,  existed  among  the  guests 
who  were  present ;  arid  he  had  been  too  seriously  occupied  with  his 
own  operations,  to  pay  any  ver-y  particular  attention  to  the  proceed 
ings  of  his  neighbors.  He  was  evidently  surprised,  that  any  person 
should  have  the  hardihood  to  avow  himself  a  cold-water  man  before 
an  assembly,  in  which  every  other  individual  had  furnished  such 
abundant  evidence,  that  he  was  not.  He  turned  toward  me  with 
perfect  astonishment.  I  cannot  say,  that  he  lifted  the  light  of  his 
countenance  upon  me,  for  every  spark  of  intelligence  was  utterly 
extinguished. — 'I  am  a  cold-water  man,  deacon,  as  you  well 
know,'  continued  I.  '  Water  is  a  safe  and  a  salutary  beverage  ;  we 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  149 

have  sufficient  reason  to  believe,  that  wine  is  neither.  I  will  avail 
of  this  occasion  to  bear  my  testimony,  for  all  that  it  is  worth, 
against  some  wild  opinions,  as  I  deem  them,  which  I  have  heard 
to-day.  It  is  easier,  I  conceive,  to  follow  our  blessed  Redeemer's 
example  in  some  things  than  in  others ;  it  is  a  pleasanter  employ 
ment,  perhaps,  to  drink  wine,  at  a  wedding,  in  commemoration  of 
his  example  at  Cana,  than  to  bear  a  splinter  of  the  cioss,  in  testi 
mony  of  our  gratitude  for  all  he  suffered  for  mankind  on  Calvary. 
Jesus  Christ  never  commanded  that  we  should  drink  wine  upon  such 
convivial  occasions  as  these  ;  yet  he  certainly  forbade  surfeiting-  and 
drunkenness.  If  drunkenness  had  not  existed,  he  would  not  have 
forbidden  it.  Fermented  liquors  were  then  the  only  beverages,  by 
which  drunkenness  could  be  produced.  It  is  therefore  absurd  to 
contend,  that  wine,  even  when  unenforced  with  brandy,  is  insuffi 
cient  for  the  production  of  drunkenness.  It  is  not  less  irrational  to 
assert,  that  the  addition  of  water  is  an  adulteration  of  communion 
wine,*  however  pure  that  wine  may  be ;  and  this  remark  is  still 
more  just,  if  the  communion  wine  be  such  as  is  commonly  employed 
and  enforced  with  brandy,  for  such  wine  was  unknown  when  Jesus 
Christ  was  upon  the  earth.'  Having  made  these  remarks,  I  took 
my  leave,  and  returned  home  with  many  sad  forebodings,  in  rela 
tion  to  the  future  prospects  of  poor  Middleton  and  his  unhappy 
family. 

"It  had  been  my  intention  to  seek  the  first  fitting  opportunity, 
for  a  solemn  conversation  with  Mr.  Middleton,  on  the  subject  of  his 
habit.  Impressions,  produced  at  the  late  interview,  tended  to  dis 
suade  me  from  the  execution  of  this  design.  I  had  ascertained,  that 
both  his  brothers  had  become  members  of  the  new  society,  and 
signed  the  pledge  of  abstinence  from  all  intoxicating  drinks.  At 
a  temperance  convention,  recently  assembled  in  a  neighboring 
county,  Geoffrey  Middleton,  the  elder  brother,  who  was  a  man  of 
strong  natural  understanding,  had  distinguished  himself,  by  making, 
in  his  plain  way,  one  of  the  most  argumentative  and  affecting 
addresses,  that  I  have  ever  heard,  in  favor  of  the  comprehensive 
pledge.  It  occurred  to  me,  that  my  object  would  be  mo£t  likely  to 
be  accomplished,  through  the  instrumentality  of  this  elder  brothei. 
About  a  week  from  this  time,  I  had  occasion  to  pass  through  the 
village,  in  which  he  resided,  and  called  at  his  farm-house.  I  stated 
my  fears,  in  relation  to  his  brother,  without  any  reserve ;  and  sug 
gested,  that,  possibly,  exhortation  and  argument,  from  the  lips  of 
a  brother,  might  avail,  which  would  fall  ineffectually  from  those 

*  See  Appendix. 
VOL.  II.  13* 


150  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

of  any  other  man.  —  'Do  go,  Geoffrey,'  said  his  wife;  'we  owe 
everything  to  Arthur.'  — '  I  know  it,'  said  Geoffrey,  as  his  lip  quiv 
ered  and  the  tear  came  into  his  eye.  '  I  '11  go,  judge,'  continued 
he,  '  if  you  '11  go  along  with  me  and  bear  me  out.  Arthur 's  a 
tonguey  man,  judge,  and  I  should  feel  badly,  if  I  could  n't  make  the 
whole  truth  plain  for  the  want  of  words.'  We  made  an  arrange 
ment  to  visit  Arthur  Middleton  together,  on  the  following  Monday. 
Before  we  parted,  I  apprized  his  brother  Geoffrey  of  all  the  circum 
stances  in  Arthur's  situation,  which  had  come  to  my  knowledge, 

—  his  pecuniary  embarrassment,  —  the  exteat  of  his  habit,  —  the 
undesirable  reputation,  which  it  had  already  acquired  for  him ,  to 
all  which  he  listened  with  evident  surprise  and  sorrow. 

"  At  the  appointed  hour,  on  the  following  Monday,  Geoffrey 
Middleton  arrived  at  my  door,  in  company  with  his  brother  John. 
'  I  've  brought  brother  John  with  me,  judge,'  said  he,  as  he  entered 
my  study ;  '  I  've  been  thinking  he  might  put  in  a  word  now  and 
then.  John  is  about  as  much  indebted  to  Arthur,  as  I  am  myself, 
and  has  as  much  interest  in  this  matter  as  I  have  ;  and,  as  he  was 
entirely  willing  to  go  with  us,  I  thought  I  would  bring  him  over, 
and  take  your  advice  about  it.' — I  knew  the  character  of  John 
Middleton  very  thoroughly.  He  was  a  man  of  good  common  sense, 
but  decidedly  inferior  to  Geoffrey  in  point  of  talent.  The  natural 
'impulses  of  his  heart  were  more  impetuous ;  he  was  not  much  older 
than  Arthur;  and,  having  been  more  closely  associated  with  him 
as  the  companion  of  his  earlier  years,  he  cherished  towards  him 
very  naturally  a  much  warmer  attachment.  Both  Geoffrey  and 
John,  subsequently  to  their  reformation,  had  expressed,  in  my  hear 
ing,  their  grateful  sense  of  their  younger  brother's  efforts  in  bringing 
it  about.  Upon  such  occasions,  Geoffrey  was  always  perfectly 
collected,  and  gave  a  clear  account  of  his  former  state,  contrasting 
it,  in  the  happiest  manner,  with  his  present  condition  ;  and  bestow 
ing  the  full  measure  of  grateful  praise  upon  his  brother  Arthur. 
John's  heart  was  always  too  full  for  such  a  calm,  collected  narrative ; 
and,  before  he  had  relieved  himself  of  one  half  of  all  he  had  to  say, 
his  voice  choked,  his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  all  he  could  utter, 
as  he  held  my  hand  in  his  own  convulsive  grasp,  was,  *  O,  judge, 

—  I  can't  talk  about  it.' 

"  I  told  John,  that  I  was  persuaded  his  presence  would  be  bene 
ficial.  I  informed  them  both  of  such  facts,  as  had  recently  come  to 
my  knowledge.  At  the  close  of  the  entertainment,  of  which  I  have 
given  a  description,  the  Rev.  Paul  Mockturtle  was  put  to  bed  at 
Mr.  Middleton's,  being  utterly  unable  to  seek  his  own  lodgings 
Mr.  Middleton  himself  was  unable  to  reach  his  own  chamber  with 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  151 

out  assistance,  or  to  come  abroad  during  the  two  succeeding  days. 
1  also  ascertained,  that  his  pecuniary  affairs  were  in  a  much  worse 
condition,  than  I  had  ever  imagined. 

"  After  some  little  discussion,  in  regard  to  our  plan  of  operation, 
we  proceeded  to  Mr.  Middleton's  residence.  The  domestic  informed 
us  at  the  door,  that  Mr.  Middleton  was  particularly  engaged.  I 
requested  to  see  his  wife,  who  came  down  to  us  in  great  agitation, 
with  the  intelligence  that  their  furniture  had  been  attached  that 
morning,  by  the  sheriff,  who  was  then  with  her  husband  in  the 
parlor.  '  What  shall  be  done?'  inquired  Geoffrey  Middleton. — '  I 
guess  we  can  pay  off  the  debt  between  us,  Geoffrey,'  said  John.  — 
I  desired  the  sheriff  to  be  told,  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  see  him 
at  the  door.  He  immediately  came  to  us.  I  looked  at  the  writ ;  it 
was  at  the  suit  of  J.  J.  Jaffier,  a  French  wine-merchant ;  the  action 
was  brought  to  recover  the  value  of  a  quarter-cask  of  Sherry,  and 
six  hampers  of  Champagne.  We  gave  our  personal  responsibility 
to  the  officer,  who  released  the  furniture,  and  took  his  leave.  We 
entered  the  parlor  with  Mrs.  Middleton,  where  we  found  her  hus 
band,  walking  the  apartment  with  hasty  strides.  He  had  evidently 
expected  the  officer's  return,  and  was  greatly  surprised  by  our 
appearance,  and  painfully  embarrassed  by  our  visit,  at  such  an 
unlucky  moment.  '  Where  is  the  sheriff?'  he  inquired  of  Mrs. 
Middleton,  in  an  under  tone.  —  'He  is  gone,'  she  replied;  'our 
good  friends  here — '  — '  I  thought  so,'  he  quickly  rejoined,  as  the 
tears  filled  his  eyes ;  '  this  is  very  kind  of  you.'  — '  Pshaw,  Arthur,' 
cried  John,  as  he  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  '  what  is  such  a 
trifle,  compared  with  what  you  have  done  for  us?'  —  'But  how 
strange  !  —  What  conducted  you  all  here  at  this  particular  junc 
ture?' — '  We  have  come,  my  young  friend,'  said  I,  '  as  I  devoutly 
trust,  the  ministers  of  good  to  you  and  yours.'  — '  We  have  come,' 
said  Geoffrey  Middleton,  '  to  make  a  small  return  for  all  your  ines 
timable  kindness  to  us  and  ours.'  —  'There  is  some  mystery  in  all 
this,  which  I  cannot  comprehend,'  said  he.  — '  Brother  Arthur,'  said 
John,  '  we  promised,  upon  your  earnest  request,  to  give  up  ardent 
spirit ;  we  have  done  so,  and  we  shall  never  cease  to  bless  God,  who 
has  enabled  us  to  keep  our  promise  thus  far.  Now,  we  want  you  to 
make  us  a  promise  in  return,  that  yc\i  will  give  up  fermented  liquors 
and  all  other  intoxicating  drinks.' — 'Pray  tell  me,'  said  he,  with  no 
little  evidence  of  excitement  in  his  voice  and  manner,  '  if  you  have 
all  come  to  me  upon  this  formal  embassy?' — 'We  have,  brother 
Arthur,'  replied  Geoffrey,  with  perfect  composure.  — '  We  have  con 
sulted  together,  and  have  resolved,  that  it  was  our  duty  to  do  so,  and 
that  your  future  happiness,  and  that  of  your  family,  require  of  you 


152  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

the  entire  abandonment  of  intoxicating  liquors.'  — '  Gracious  Hea 
ven!'  he  exclaimed,  rising  suddenly  from  his  chair,  and  walking 
across  the  apartment,  '  has  it  come  to  this  !  Am  I  in  any  danger  oi 
becoming  an  intemperate  man?  Perhaps/  added  he  with  a  sneer 
*  you  have  made  up  your  minds,  that  I  shall  die  a  drunkard.  — 
Possibly,  according  to  the  ultra  constructions  of  modern  fanatics, 
you  consider  me  a  drunkard  already !  Your  motives  are  entitled  to 
my  respect,  but  you  must  forgive  me  for  expressing  my  aston 
ishment  at  such  an  application  from  you,  Geoffrey,  or  from  you, 
brother  John.' —  'Arthur,'  said  Geoffrey,  after  a  short  pause,  '  who, 
of  all  mankind,  can  address  you  with  greater  propriety  upon  this 
deeply  interesting  subject  than  ourselves?  We  have  been  drunk 
ards  ;  and,  had  you  not  come,  like  an  angel  of  mercy,  to  the  rescue, 
we  should  have  been  drunkards  still ;  our  wives  would  still  have 
continued  the  trembling  slaves  of  two  drunken,  ungovernable 
tyrants ;  our  children  would  still  have  hid  in  holes  and  corners  at 
our  coming.  —  But  it  is  not  so  ;  your  efforts  have  been  blessed  ;  we 
have  abandoned  our  evil  habits ;  our  wives  and  our  little  ones  are 
happy.  For  all  this,  we  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude  somewhere ;  and, 
under  Providence,  we  owe  it  to  you.'  — '  Really,  brother  Geoffrey,' 
cried  Arthur  Middleton,  with  an  air  of  affected  vivacity,  '  you  have 
learned  to  play  the  orator.'  —  'I  have  learned  to  seek  the  truth,' 
replied  the  elder  brother,  '  without  any  fear,  but  the  fear  of  God ; 
and,  if  it  lies,  where  it  is  said  to  lie,  at  the  bottom  of  the  well,  I  'm 
not  a  going  to  flatter  myself  that  I  have  found  it,  when  I  am  only 
half  way  there.'  — '  Well,  Geoffrey,'  said  Arthur,  '  when  I  drink 
ardent  spirit,  it  will  be  very  just  and  right  for  you  to  lecture,  and 
for  me  to  listen ;  but,  as  it  is,  I  give  you  my  word,  there  is  no  pos 
sible  danger  of  that  result.'  —  'Arthur,'  rejoined  the  other,  '  expe 
rience  is  better  than  theory.  When  1  was  twelve  years  old,  the 
very  year  you  was  born,  I  told  our  father  he  lied,  for  which  I 
merited  a  severe  flogging,  and  I  got  my  deserts  with  interest.  I 
have  asked  myself,  a  thousand  times,  how  I  came  to  say  such  an 
outrageous  thing  to  our  good  old  father,  and  my  conscience  has 
always  given  me  a  ready  answer:  I  was  drunk, — drunk  with  fer 
mented  drink,  —  drunk  with  cider.  Neighbor  Faulkner's  cider -mill 
had  been  at  work  for  several  days,  and  I  had  drunk,  till  I  lost  all 
respect  for  myself  and  for  everybody  else.  I  have  often  thought 
of  father's  words,  when  he  took  me  alone,  the  next  day.  "  Cider," 
said  he,  "  is  the  first  letter  in  the  drunkard's  alphabet,  and  raw  rum 
is  the  last ;  if  you  go  on  as  you  've  begun,  you  '11  soon  learn  from 
A  to  Z ;  and,  with  the  assistance  of  your  school-master,  the  devil, 
you  '11  be  able,  in  a  short  time,  to  spell  out  DESTRUCTION."  Now, 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  1£3 

if  there  is  anything  fanatical  ir  the  views  of  those,  who  are  for 
total  abstinence  from  all  intoxicating  liquors  at  the  present  day,  our 
father's  notions  were  just  as  fanatical,  long  before  you  or  I  ever 
heard  of  a  temperance  society.' 

"  Geoffrey's  argument  was  unanswerable.  Arthur  said  not  a 
word,  but  appeared  to  be  meditating  a  reply.  The  countenance  of 
Mrs.  Middleton,  anxious  and  pale,  —  save  that  circumscribed  flush, 
which  tells  of  anything  but  health  and  many  years, — was  lighted 
up  with  an  unwonted  smile,  as  she  listened  to  these  words  of  truth 
and  soberness,  and  looked  hopefully  upon  the  features  of  her  hus 
band  for  some  testimony  of  their  happy  effect. 

"  '  I  don't  pretend  to  know  as  many  things  as  you  do,  brother 
Arthur,'  said  John, «  but  I  believe,  as  truly  as  I  believe  anything,  that 
I  should  never  have  been  a  drunkard,  if  I  hadn't  begun  with  beer. 
Ardent  spirit  used  to  be  very  disagreeable  to  me,  till  I  was  past 
nineteen.  When  I  lived  with  Mr.  Paradise,  the  brewer,  the  boya 
had  plenty  of  beer  ;  and,  when  I  left  him,  and  went  where  beer  was 
not  set  before  us,  I  found  my  mouth  was  quite  out  of  taste  for  water. 
Anything  tasted  better  than  water  ;  —  a  little  rum,  or  gin,  or  brandy, 
gave  it  a  very  agreeable  flavor ;  —  and  so  I  went  on  incieasing  the 
quantity,  till  I  became  what  I  was.' 

"  '  Let  me  ask  one  question,'  said  Arthur  Middleton,  with  the 
confident  air  of  one,  who  has  not  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  that  the 
response  will  be  entirely  in  his  favor,  —  'let  me  ask,  if  either  of 
you  ever  saw  me  the  worse  for  liquor,  or  heard  of  such  a  thing  in 
your  lives?'  —  Geoffrey  and  John  turned  their  countenances  upon 
me,  and  Mrs.  Middleton  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  floor.  I  perceived 
it  was  my  duty  to  speak,  and  to  speak  frankly.  —  'My  young 
friend,'  said  I,  '  when  I  tell  you,  that  the  visit  you  are  now  receiv 
ing  from  your  brothers  was  concerted  by  me,  you  will  believe  that  I 
entirely  concur  with  them  in  their  solicitation.  We  all  urge  you  to 
resign  every  species  of  intoxicating  drink  ;  and  we  certainly  think 
we  have  good  reasons  for  the  course  we  have  adopted.  You  have 
put  a  direct  question,  which  is  entitled  to  an  honest  reply.  Habits 
are  insidious  ;  and  they  are  commonly  manifested  to  those  about  us, 
at  an  earlier  period  than  we  imagine.  They  are  frequently  apparent 
to  others,  before  we  ourselves  are  conscious  of  their  existence.  It 
is  with  the  deepest  regret,  that  I  assure  you  of  the  fact,  —  you  have 
acquired  the  reputation  of  an  intemperate  man.'  —  If  a  skilful  physi 
cian  had  affirmed  that  the  plague  had  fastened  upon  his  body,  he 
could  not  have  been  more  completely  overthrown.  He  stared  upon 
me  with  wild  amazement ;  —  poor  Margaret  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  — '  I  am  grieved  to  give 


154  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

pain,'  continued  I,  *  but  I  am  bound,  by  many  considerations,  as  you 
well  know,  to  be  explicit.  You  ask  if  we,  or  either  of  us,  ever 
knew  you  to  be  the  worse  for  liquor,  or  heard  of  such  a  thing.  Men, 
who  love  and  desire  to  respect  you,  men  of  years  and  high  standing, 
have  told  me,  that  an  impression  had  long  since  gone  abroad,  that 
you  were  unfitted  for  professional  business  in  the  afternoon.  The 
•docket,  which  is  before  me  at  every  term,  has  indicated,  for  the  last 
three  years,  an  extraordinary  declension  of  your  business.  Your 
furniture  was  attached  this  morning  by  a  wine-merchant.  Your 
personal  appearance,  —  the  loss,  in  some  considerable  degree,  of 
your  good  looks,  —  has  become  a  subject  for  remark  among  your 
acquaintances.  Your  case  is  also  frequently  cited,  as  I  am  informed, 
by  those,  who  are  desirous  of  proving,  by  forcible  example,  the 
insufficiency  of  the  old-fashioned  temperance  pledge.  Now,  it  is 
apparent,  that  any  individual,  so  circumstanced  in  every  respect,  is 
decidedly  the  worse  for  liquor,  in  mind,  body,  and  estate.''  —  *  Sir,' 
said  he,  with  something  like  asperity,  'I  see  how  it  is;  —  I  have 
long  thought  it  might  be  well  for  me  lo  try  my  fortune  and  seek  for 
friends  elsewhere.' — *  You  will  seek  in  vain  elsewhere,'  said  I,  *  for 
better  friends,  than  are  now  gathered  around  you.  Your  course  is  a 
plain  one  ;  —  sign  the  pledge  of  total  abstinence  at  once ;  resume 
your  position  as  a  distinguished  leader  among  the  advocates  of  this 
holy  cause  ;  and  live  down  this  evil  reputation,  which  is  gathering 
about  you.  Depend  upon  it,  my  dear  young  friend,  your  clients 
will  return,  your  days  will  be  brighter,  and  yours  will  be  again  the 
happy  fireside  that  it  was,  when  Margaret  first  exchanged  a  fond 
father's  roof  for  your  own.'  —  *  I  wish  the  voice  of  our  father  and 
mother  could  speak  from  their  graves/  said  Geoffrey  Middleton. — 
'Do  sign  the  pledge,  dear  brother,'  cried  John,  as  he  sprang  from 
his  chair,  and  seized  Arthur  by  the  hand.  —  Margaret  had  risen 
from  her  seat,  and  was  standing  by  his  side,  with  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder.  —  'My  dear  husband,'  said  she,  —  the  tears,  that 
choked  her  utterance,  fell  fast  upon  his  bosom.  At  length  he  rose, 
and  with  vehemence  exclaimed,  that  he  was  pledged  already,  — 
that  he  had  sworn  most  solemnly,  and  upon  many  occasions,  that 
he  would  never  sign  the  pledge  of  total  abstinence  from  all  intoxi 
cating  drinks,  nor  put  it  in  the  power  of  the  fanatics  to  say  he  had 
relinquished  the  use  of  fermented  liquors. 

'  We  urged  upon  his  consideration,  the  utter  emptiness  of  all 
such  rash  and  senseless  vows,  and  pressed  him,  in  the  most  earnest 
and  affectionate  manner,  with  every  species  of  argument,  which 
seemed  likely  to  operate  upon  his  head  and  heart.  It  was  all  in 
vain.  He  remained  fixed  and  unchangeable  ;  and,  after  an  inter- 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  155 

view  of  more  than  two  hours,  we  were  compelled  to  relinquish  our 
task,  as  apparently  impracticable  by  man.  He  continued  in  his 
old  habit;  his  health,  especially  the  digestive  function,  became 
impaired ;  his  business  declined  ;  embarrassment  gathered  rapidly 
about  him ;  his  temper  became  irritable  ;  and  his  disposition  ap 
peared  to  lose  almost  the  whole  of  that  natural  frankness,  which,  at 
the  age  of  twenty-one,  had  rendered  Arthur  Middleton  an  object 
of  universal  admiration  and  esteem.  From  the  period  of  our  late 
interview,  he  assumed,  towards  his  very  best  friends,  a  more  cold 
and  formal  carriage.  His  very  look  and  manner  seemed  distinctly 
to  proclaim  his  fixed  resolve,  to  hear  nothing  further  upon  a  certain 
subject.  Nothing  seemed  left,  for  a  Christian  friend,  but  to  remem 
ber  him  most  earnestly  in  prayer,  and,  in  all  possible  ways,  to  melio 
rate  the  condition  of  his  unhappy  family. 

"  His  habit  of  intemperance  was  unquestionably,  in  its  commence 
ment,  a  social  vice.  As  it  became  more  absorbing  in  its  character, 
more  imperative  in  its  demands,  one  after  another,  his  old  associates 
began  to  break  away  from  his  society.  A  few  still  gathered  together, 
with  whom  the  festive  qualities  of  wine  were  of  little  moment,  com 
pared  with  its  magic  power  of  balancing  accounts ;  of  smothering 
care  beneath  its  mantle  of  oblivion  ;  of  hiding  the  neglected  wife, 
and  the  group  of  starving  little  ones,  from  the  profligate  husband 
and  apostate  father.  At  length,  it  happened  to  Arthur  Middleton, 
as  it  has  happened  to  many  Others,  that  he  could  sit  and  drink,  glass 
after  glass,  —  and  all  alone,  —  till  the  waning  afternoon  left  him  too 
little  space  for  any  profitable  occupation  at  his  office,  and  persuaded 
him  to  finish  his  second  bottle  of  Port  or  Madeira,  before  that  insipid 
hour,  —  in  the  tippler's  estimation,  —  the  hour  for  tea. 

"  Among  Mr.  Middleton 's  bottle-companions,  there  was  probably 
not  one,  who,  like  himself,  had  scrupulously  abstained  from  the  use 
of  ardent  spirits.  I  have  been  repeatedly  assured,  that,  to  the  very 
last,  he  held  them  and  their  employment  in  abhorrence. 

"  About  four  months  after  our  unsuccessful  effort  to  correct  his 
intemperate  habit,  I  had  passed  the  last  hour  of  the  afternoon  with 
Mrs.  Middleton.  When  I  inquired  after  her  husband  and  Elinor, 
their  only  child,  she  told  me  he  had  gone,  that  day,  to  dine  with 
Major  McBride,  in  the  country  ;  and,  against  her  judgment,  had 
taken  Elinor  with  him  in  the  gig,  but  had  promised  to  bring  her 
Lome  before  tea.  This  Major  McBride  was  a  miserable  fellow,  a 
bad  husband  and  father,  and  an  intemperate  man.  Mrs.  Middleton 's 
manifest  anxiety  was  occasioned,  in  part,  by  her  knowledge  of  these 
facts.  After  waiting  more  than  an  hour  for  their  return,  we  took 
our  places  at  the  table.  It  was  a  chill  autumnal  evening,  and  snow 


156  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

had  begun  to  fall.  We  sat  in  silence  for  some  time.  — '  You  seem 
ill,'  said  I ;  '  perhaps  you  will  feel  better  if  you  sip  a  little  tea.'  — 
*  Really,'  she  replied,  'I  have  no  appetite.  I  am  very  anxious 
about  Mr.  Middlelon  and  Elinor.  Sh6  has  been  very  ill  of  late.'— - 
I  said  everything,  which  suggested  itself  to  my  mind,  in  the  shape 
of  comfort  and  encouragement.  The  time  passed  wearily  enough. 
Hours  rolled  slowly  away,  and  it  was  nearly  eleven,  when  we  heard 
a  vehicle  stop  at  the  door.  I  rose  and  opened  it  myself.  I  saw 
nothing  but  a  butcher's  cart.  — '  Pray,'  said  I  to  the  driver,  who 
had  already  alighted,  '  have  you  seen  anything  of  Mr.  Middleton?' 
— '  Yes,  sir,'  he  replied,  in  an  under  tone,  '  he  's  in  my  cart,  • —  met 
with  a  pretty  bad  accident.'  —  'Where  is  the  young  lady  V  said  I, 
impatiently.  —  'I  can't  tell  you,  sir;  —  I  only  know,  that  I  saw  a 
chaise  dashed  to  pieces,  about  three  miles  out  of  town  ;  and,  while 
I  was  looking  at  it,  two  gentlemen  —  one  called  the  other  Doctor 
Jones  —  asked  me,  if  I  knew  where  'Squire  Middleton  lived.  I  told 
'em  I  did,  and  then  they  brought  him  out  of  the  house,  and  got  me 
to  bring  him  home.'  —  'And  why  does  he  not  get  out  of  your 
wagon?'  said  I.  — '  Why,  I  guess  he  can't  very  well,'  replied  the 
man,  '  without  a  little  help.'  —  During  this  conversation,  which  was 
carried  on  in  a  low  voice,  Mrs.  Middleton,  oppressed  with  a  fear  of 
some  undefined  tidings  of  evil,  had  not  quitted  the  apartment,  but, 
falling  upon  her  knees,  had  thrown-herself  upon  the  mercy  of  her 
God.  —  Mr.  Middleton  was  speedily  removed  from  the  wagon.  He 
could  not  stand.  I  supported  him  to  the  parlor  door,  and,  attempt 
ing  to  walk,  he  fell  prostrate  upon  the  carpet.  His  poor  wife  sprang 
to  his  assistance,  —  we  placed  him  in  a  chair.  — '  Arthur,'  said  she, 
in  an  agonized  tone,  which  I  can  never  forget,  '  what  is  the  matter? 

—  where  is  Elinor?'  —  He  made  no  reply.  —  'Mr.  Middleton,'  said 
T,  speaking  in  a  clear  voice,  and  directly  in  his  ear,   '  what  has 
befallen  you?  where  is  your  daughter?    where  is  Elinor?'  —  He 
uttered  an  inarticulate  sound,  and  shook  his  head.     He  was  drunk, 

—  utterly  drunk.     I  might  as  well  have  demanded  a  response  from 
the  dumb  beast  of  the  field. — I  turned  to  request  Mrs.  Middlemen  to 
call  a  servant,  that  we  might  bear  her  husband  to  his  chamber ;  — 
the  tempest  in  a  mother's  bosom  had  already  done  its  work  ;  —  she 
had  swooned  upon  the  floor.  —  I  summoned  the  domestic.     After 
the  usual  appliances,  the  poor  sufferer  was  apparently  restored  to 
her  senses.  — '  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  you  more  calm,'  said  I.  — She 
turned  upon  me,  with  the  same  sweet  smile,  that  used  to  beam  upon 
her  lovely  features  when  a  girl.     I  had  not  seen  it  for  years.     It 
had  been  lost  amid  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  life.     It  cut  me  to  the 
soul,  — it  was  so  strange  and  ill-timed.  — '  What  is  the  matter  with 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  L57 

you,  Margaret?'  said  I,  taking  her  hand,  and  looking  steadfastly 
upon  her.  —  'Elinor  is  dead!'  said  she.  —  'Drive  such  thoughts 
from  your  imagination,'  said  I,  '  if  you  value  your  own  peace  and 
mine.'  —  She  threw  her  arms  ahout  my  neck,  and,  with  the  same 
unchanged  expression, — the  same  sweet  smile, — whispered  in  my 
ear,  '  We  will  not  have  any  funeral,  but  you  and  I  will  dig  her 
grave  in  her  little  garden,  before  the  snow  covers  the  ground ;  — 
come  with  me  now,'  said  she,  rising  from  her  chair.  —  I  perceived 
that  her  reason  was  shattered,  —  perhaps  gone  forever. 

"  With  the  assistance  of  a  kind  neighbor,  Mr.  Middleton  was  borne 
to  his  apartment.  A  physician  was  soon  called  to  prescribe  for  his 
unhappy  wife,  and  I  had  despatched  a  messenger,  to  gather,  if  pos 
sible,  some  tidings  of  Elinor.  The  physician  was  soon  in  attend 
ance,  and  proclaimed,  that,  although  manifestly  intoxicated,  Mr. 
Middleton  had  received  a  severe  blow  on  the  left  temple." 

"  Pray,  mynheer,"  said  the  old  Dutchman,  who  was  exceedingly 
affected,  "  vas  dere  much  harm  to  de  poor  young  lady?"  —  "  While 
the  family  physician,"  continued  the  elderly  gentleman,  "was 
engaged  above  stairs,  I  remained  below,  waiting  the  return  of  the 
messenger,  whom  I  had  despatched.  It  was  after  twelve  o'clock, 
when  I  heard  a  gentle  knock  at  the  outer  door.  I  opened  it  my 
self,  and  a  gentleman  entered,  who  introduced  himself  as  Dr.  Jones. 
— '  I  believe,  sir,'  said  he,  '  that  I  am  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Middle- 
ton.'  *  Yes,  sir,'  said  I ;  '  I  heard  your  name  from  the  person,  who 
brought  him  home  a  few  hours  since,  and  beseech  you  to  give  me 
tidings,  if  you  can,  of  his  daughter.'  — '  Sir,'  said  he,  '  I  am  the 
messenger  of  evil.  I  know  nothing  of  the  relation  between  Mr. 
Middleton  and  the  young  lady,  whose  body  now  lies  at  my  house  ; 
but  — '  — '  She  is  dead,  then !'  I  exclaimed.  —  *  I  am  grieved,'  he 
replied,  '  to  say  it  is  even  so.  — I  perceive,  sir,  from  your  emotion, 
that  you  have  a  deep  interest  in  this  event,  and  will  recount  all  that 
I  know  of  it.  About  nine  in  the  evening,  a  neighbor  came  to  me 
in  haste,  with  intelligence,  that  two  persons  had  been  thrown  from 
a  chaise,  near  my  residence,  and  were  either  killed  or  severely 
injured.  I  immediately  repaired  to  the  spot,  with  lights  and  assis 
tants.  I  discovered  a  gentleman  and  a  young  lady,  lying  appar 
ently  senseless,  upon  the  ground.  The  gentleman  I  instantly  recog 
nized  to  be  'Squire  Middleton.  I  examined  his  limbs ;  none  were 
broken  ;  and  though  bruised,  no  doubt,  by  his  fall  upon  the  frozen 
ground,  he  did  not  seem  to  be  seriously  injured.  He  could  scarcely 
articulate,  and  seemed  unable  to  give  any  account  of  the  disaster. 
This  circumstance  I  was  compelled  to  understand,  as  connected 
with  the  cause,  rather  than  the  effect  of  the  accident,  Tke  road 

VOL.  II.  14 


158  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

was  broad  and  smooth,  and  the  stars  unusually  bright.  The  young 
lady  was  without  sense  or  motion.  She  was  taken  a  very  short 
distance  to  my  house.  Upon  a  careful  examination,  I  discovered 
that  three  ribs  were  broken  and  the  skull  severely  fractured.  Death 
was  produced,  beyond  a  doubt,  almost  instantaneously.  The 
chaise,  which  was  broken  to  pieces,  had  been  driven,  as  we  per 
ceived  by  the  wheel-tracks  upon  the  light  snow,  entirely  out  of  the 
road  and  against  the  wall.' 

"  On  the  following  morning,  Mrs.  Middleton  remained  in  the 
same  condition  of  mind.  She  had  not  slept  during  the  night  Her 
husband  was  threatened  with  a  brain  fever.  The  physician  sug 
gested,  as  a  last  resort,  the  propriety  of  leading  the  distracted 
mother  to  the  apartment,  where  the  body  of  Elinor  lay,  and  which 
had  been  brought  to  the  house,  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morning. 
It  was  suggested,  as  an  expedient  that  had  been  tried  in  similar 
cases,  and  sometimes  with  the  happiest  effect .  *  We  may  expel  the 
creature  of  the  imagination,'  said  the  physician,  '  by  substituting 
the  reality,  awful  as  it  is ;  and  the  mind  having  gotten  back  into 
the  channel  of  natural  grief,  time  and  care  may  be  expected  to  effect 
a  cure.  Upon  a  somewhat  similar  principle,  we  deal  with  certain 
diseases  of  the  body, — we  convert  an  ulcer  into  a  burn,  and  cure 
the  burn  at  our  leisure,  or  suffer  it  to  cure  itself.'  As  it  appeared 
to  him,  that  matters  could  not  be  made  worse  by  the  experiment,  1 
yielded  my  consent.  —  I  entered  Mrs.  Middleton's  apartment,  and 
giving  her  my  arm,  requested  her  to  walk  with  me.  — '  Then  you 
will  go  with  me,1  said  she,  with  the  same  touching  expression,  '  and 
dig  little  Elinor's  grave.'  —  I  made  no  reply,  and  she  suffered  her 
self  to  be  conducted  to  the  apartment,  where  the  body  of  her  poor 
Elinor  lay.  The  physician  followed,  to  render  such  assistance  as 
might  be  needed.  I  opened  the  door,  —  the  body  had  not  yet  been 
committed  to  its  narrow  house,  —  it  lay  arrayed  in  the  vestment  of 
the  grave,  and  retained,  in  an  unusual  degree,  the  semblance  of  liv 
ing  and  breathing  slumber.  —  The  mother's  eye  fastened  upon  the 
object  before  her,  —  with  expanded  arms  she  darted  towards  it,  and 
clasped  the  cold  body  to  her  throbbing  heart. — I  looked  at  the 
physician,  —  he  placed  his  finger  upon  his  lips,  and  I  continued 
motionless  and  still.  —  After  a  pause  of  many  seconds,  she  raised 
herself  from  the  bed,  and  gazed  upon  the  corpse.  — '  Elinor !'  said 
she,  'Elinor!  my  child!  speak  to  me,'  —  then  putting  her  hand 
upon  its  brow,  —  'How  cold!'  she  exclaimed,  and  turning  her 
inquiring  gaze  upon  us  both,  — 'is  it  so?'  she  cried  in  a  faltering 
voice,  —  the  smile  of  disordered  imagination  had  fled  —  the  lip 
Cpwrtereld  —  tilts  uplifted  feye  tainted  agfcin  tb  Him,  with  whom  ii» 


THE  STAGE-COACH.  159 

the  issues  of  life  and  of  death  —  and  the  dry  and  feverish  tempest 
of  the  soul  found  vent,  at  last,  in  a  torrent  of  tears.  —  'It  is  well,* 
said  the  physician,  in  an  under  tone,  and,  drawing-  a  chair  by  her 
side,  he  took  her  hand,  while  she  lay  her  head  upon  my  bosom  and 
sobbed  aloud.  —  'And  how  is  this?'  said  she,  after  a  long  paroxysm 
of  sorrow.  The  physician  proceeded,  with  great  calmness  and  pro 
priety,  to  narrate  the  circumstances,  in  as  brief  a  manner  as  possible. 
She  was  then  extremely  urgent  to  see  her  husband,  but  this,  in  his 
highly-excited  state,  was  positively  forbidden. 

"  The  fever  ran  its  course,  and  left  him  exceedingly  feeble.  His 
poor  wife,  who,  after  a  few  days,  was  permitted  to  approach  his 
sick  bed,  though  suffering  herself  intensely,  was  constantly  at  his 
side.  The  physician,  after  the  lapse  of  three  or  four  weeks,  pro 
nounced  him  to  be  in  a  decline.  During  this  period,  I  was  fre 
quently  in  his  chamber,  as  were  his  brothers,  Geoffrey  and  John. 
It  was  truly  affecting,  to  witness  his  contrition.  The  image  of  his 
ill-fated  child  was  constantly  before  him,  and,  at  times,  when  he 
was  upbraiding  himself  as  the  cause  of  her  death,  no  martyr  on  the 
wheel  ever  presented  a  picture  of  more  perfect  agony  than  that, 
which  tortured  the  soul  of  this  miserable  man.  He  was  fully  sensi 
ble  of  his  approaching  end.  — '  It  is  too  late  for  me,'  said  he,  one 
day,  as  we  were  all  sitting  by  his  bed-side,  '  to  do  much  good  by 
my  example  ;  possibly,  however,'  he  added,  '  the  attestation  of  a 
dying  man  may  have  some  little  influence  when  I  am  no  more.  II 
you  think  so,  I  will  sign  the  pledge  of  your  society.'  John  Middle- 
ton  soon  procured  the  book,  and  this  unhappy  young  man,  with 
considerable  effort,  wrote  his  name  for  the  last  time.  '  Would  to 
God,'  he  feebly  cried,  turning  to  his  wretched  partner,  as  the  pen 
fell  from  his  faltering  hand,  '  that  I  had  done  this,  dear  Margaret, 
before  our  dark  days  began.'  —  He  lived  but  a  week  after  this  event ; 
and  I  have  good  reason  to  believe,  that  the  sight  of  this  trembling 
autograph,  —  almost  the  last  act  of  a  dying  man,  —  was  not  with 
out  its  influence  upon  a  few  of  his  misguided  associates.  I  was 
with  iiim,  during  his  last  moments ;  they  were  certainly  moments 
of  the  deepest  contrition.  As  I  closed  the  eyes  of  this  young  man, 
and  gazed  upon  his  cold,  and  pale,  and  motionless  features,  I  was 
forcibly  struck  by  the  almost  inconceivable  change,  which  had  taken 
place  in  the  compass  of  a  few  fleeting  years.  I  had  taken  unusual 
pains  in  preparing  Arthur  Middleton  for  his  professional  career, 
lie  was  under  my  eye,  as  a  student  in  my  office,  for  three  years. 
I  had  acquired  an  intimate  knowledge  of  his  character.  His  talents 
were  of  a  very  high  order  ;  he  had  the  keenest  sense  of  honor ;  his 
4ispotation  was  altogether  amiable,  am1  his  deportment  umvewallf 


160  THE  STAGE-COACH. 

acceptable.  His  professional  prospects  were  equal  to  those  of  any 
gentleman  of  similar  standing.  He  had  married  the  girl  of  his 
heart,  and  their  matrimonial  connection,  formed  under  the  happiest 
auspices,  gave  abundant  promise  of  all  that  rational  felicity,  of  which 
the  married  relation  is  susceptible.  Their  union  was  cemented  by 
the  birth  of  an  uncommonly  beautiful  and  lovely  daughter.  But  all 
these  considerations  were  insufficient  to  restrain  his  appetite  for  wine ; 
talents  and  learning,  health  and  reputation,  wife  and  child,  and  even 
life  itself  were  sacrificed  upon  the  altar  of  this  false  god.'" 

"  And  pray,  mynheer,"  said  the  old  Dutchman,  "  vat  vas  de  fate 
of  de  poor  lady  herself?"  —  During  many  parts  of  the  recital,  the 
countenance  of  the  narrator  had  indicated  the  deepest  emotion  ;  yet 
he  had  related  the  story,  on  the  whole,  with  great  firmness  of  voice 
and  calmness  of  manner.  But  the  old  Dutchman's  interrogatory 
was  perfectly  overwhelming.  The  elderly  gentleman's  features 
were  instantly  convulsed,  and  the  tears  ran  freely  down  his  cheeks. 
—  "  I  pe  feared  I  as  done  wrong,  mynheer,"  said  the  old  Dutchman, 
with  a  look  of  painful  anxiety.  —  "No,  sir,"  said  the  narrator, 
after  he  had  recovered  his  self-command,  "  your  inquiry  is  perfectly 
natural,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  withhold  from  the  world  the  full 
advantage,  which  it  may  derive  from  this  melancholy  example.  1 
am  not  desirous  of  concealing  any  part  of  that  misery,  which,  in  the 
present  case,  proceeded  directly  from  the  employment  of  a  beverage, 
which  by  many  is  accounted  so  entirely  innocent.  The  lady,  whose 
fate  you  are  desirous  of  knowing,  still  lives,  —  the  tenant  of  a  mad 
house.  After  the  death  of  her  husband,  she  became  exceedingly 
depressed  ;  and  her  melancholy,  in  a  few  months,  became  changed 
into  absolute  insanity.  The  sole  object  of  my  present  journey  is  to 
visit  this  ill-fated  girl.  I  have  endeavored  to  suppress  my  emotions, 
as  much  as  possible,  during  this  painful  recital.  Those  of  you, 
who  are  parents,  will  readily  pardon  these  tears,  which  it  is  not 
easy  for  an  old  man  to  restrain,  while  he  is  describing  the  sufferings 
of  a  devoted  daughter,  an  only  child."  — "  Mine  Got!"  said  the 
Dutchman,  as  he  touched  his  hat  reverentially.  —  A  long  and 
solemn  pause  ensued,  which  no  one  appeared  disposed  to  interrupt. 
A  deep  and  affecting  impression  had  been  produced  upon  us  all, 
saving  the  young  woman  in  the  Tuscan  bonnet,  who  had  enjoyed  a 
profound  slumber  for  the  last  two  hours.  —  At  length  we  arrived  at 
our  last  stopping-place  for  the  night  —  the  passengers  alighted, 
responding  in  their  hearts  to  the  sentiment  expressed  by  the  old 
Dutchman,  as  we  were  separating  from  one  another,  that  "  nopody 
ought  to  pegrutch  vat  he  pay  for  de  STAGE-COACH  " 


APPENDIX. 


NOTE.  —  Page  149. 

To  tnose,  who  have  studied  the  subject  with  careful  attention,  the  mix 
ture  of  water  with  the  elemental  wine,  at  the  eucharist,  whatever  the  char 
acter  of  that  wine  may  have  been,  will  appear  neither  an  "adulteration" 
nor  an  "  innovation  "  upon  primitive  usage.  So  much  misconception  has 
prevailed,  and  still  prevails,  that  it  may  not  be  a  worthless  sacrifice  of  time, 
for  those,  who  have  not  duly  considered  this  highly  interesting  subject,  to 
give  their  attention  to  the  evidence  subjoined. 

Upon  Matthew  xxvi.  27,  Bloomfield  has  the  following  commentary. — 
"  Wine  and  water  were  used  in  the  paschal  cup  ;  and  the  Rabbins  say,  over 
wine  unmixed  with  water,  no  blessing  is  asked.  This  custom  of  miiir.g 
wine  with  water  was  adopted  by  the  first  Christians,  and  is  still  continued 
by  the  Romanists.  See  Justin  Martyr,  Clement,  Cyprian,  cited  by  Gro 
this." 

Water,  mead,  or  hydromel,  milk,  the  juice  of  the  grapes  pressed  forth  at 
the  table,  at  the  time  of  the  celebration,  —  these  and  other  matters  were 
employed  from  the  earliest  times,  at  the  eucharist ;  and,  while  approved  by 
some,  were  condemned  by  others.  These  facts  are  stated  by  Bingham,  in  his 
Antiquities,  fol.  ed.  vol.  i.  book  xv.  chap,  ii.  sec.  vii.  Bingham  is  a  writer 
of  the  highest  authority.  The  use  of  water  alone  was  reprobated  by  many  ; 
so  was  the  use  of  wine  alone;  in  proof  of  this,  he  quotes  Cyprian,  Ep.  63  ad 
Caecilium.  Cyprian  was  born  in  the  beginning  of  the  third  century.  The 
third  Council  of  Carthage,  says  Bingham,  expressly  decreed,  that  nothing 
should  be  used  but  what  Christ  offered,  that  is,  wine  and  water ;  and  he 
adds,  that  St.  Austin  was  a  member  of  that  Council,  who  quotes  Cyprian's 
epistle  with  approbation.  Gennadius,  who  wrote  in  the  fifteenth  century, 
questions  not  the  ancient  custom  of  using  wine  and  water,  but  gives  two  rea 
sons  for  it ;  first,  because  Christ  did  so,  and  secondly,  because  water  and 
blood  flowed  from  hL  side,  when  he  was  pirrced.  We  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  second  reason  of  Gennadius  ;  we  desire  only  to  establish  the  fact. 
St.  Ambrose  was  of  the  same  opinion.  Milk,  and  also  water,  alone,  and 
new  wine,  pressed  from  grapes  at  the  table,  and  upon  the  occasion,  were 
severally  condemned  at  the  Council  of  Braga.  But  the  same  Council  ex 
pressly  approved  of  wine  and  water.  The  Council  of  Auxerre  decreed 
against  honey  and  mead,  but  expressly  in  favor  of  wine  mixed  with  water. 
Justin  Martyr,  Apol.  ii.  p.  97,  and  Irenaeus,  lib.  4,  chap.  57,  explicitly  state, 
that  wine  mixed  with  water,  was  used  at  the  Lord's  supper.  Irenaeus  was 
born  A.  D.  120.  The  birth-time  of  Justin  Martyr  is  not  known  ;  he  was 
converted  A.  D.  130.  Bingham  does  not  consider  it  necessary  to  mix  wine 
with  water,  but  his  words  clearly  prove,  that  he  entertained  no  doubt  that 
such  had  been  the  primitive  usage.  —  "  Yet,  after  all,"  says  he,  "  as  there  is 
no  express  command  for  this  in  the  institution,  notwithstanding  this  general 
consent  of  the  ancient  Churches,  it  is  commonly  determined  by  modem 
divines,  as  well  of  the  Roman  as  Protestant  communion,  that  it  is  not  cssen 
tial  to  the  sacrament  itself."  It  would  not  be  decorous  to  offer  our  own  ver- 

tOL.   II.  14* 


162  APPENDIl. 

•ion,  unaccompanied  jy  the  original  text.  St.  Jerome,  commenting  on  Mark 
xiv.,  writes  thus  :  —  "  Accepit  Jesus  panem,  &c.  formans  sanguinem  suum 
in  calicern,  vino  et  aqua  mixtam,  ut  alio  purgunur  a  culpis,  alio  rediinainur 
a  panis."  "Jesus  took  bread,  &c.  and  forming  his  blood  in  the  cup,  with 
a  mixture  of  wine  and  water,  that,  by  one,  we  might  be  cleansed  from  our 
sins,  and,  by  the  other,  redeemed  from  our  punishments." 

Probably  the  most  able  writer  upon  this  subject,  is  Gerard  John  Vossius, 
whose  works  were  printed  at  Amsterdam,  in  six  volumes,  folio.  In  vol.  vi. 
D.  426,  he  treats  "  de  sacris  ccence  Dominicae  symbolis  ;"  —  "concerning 
the  sacred  symbols  of  the  Lord's  supper."  Having  treated  of  the  bread,  he 
proceeds,  on  page  439,  to  treat  of  the  other  element.  "  Venio  nunc,"  says 
he,  "ad  allerum  symbolum,  quod  vinum  esse,  inde  cognoscimus,  quia  illud 
yiwfoa  rt]g  u^inflav  disertim  appellct  Christus."  —  "I  come  now  to  the 
other  symbol,  which  we  know  to  be  wine,  because  Christ  expressly  calls  it 
\\\e  fruit  of  the  vine."  That  is  to  say,  Vossius  had  the  same  reason,  which 
we  have,  and  no  other,  for  calling  "  the  fruit  of  the  vine  "  by  the  general  name 
wine,  whether  fermented  or  not.  This  writer  is  opposed  to  the  use  of  water 
alone,  at  the  eucharist,  but  he  expresses  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  the  fact, 
that  wine,  mixed  with,  water,  was  generally  used  in  ancient  times.  He  pro 
ceeds,  in  the  third  thesis,  to  inquire  what  shall  be  substituted,  if  wine  can 
not  be  had,  and  quotes  an  extract  from  one  of  Beza's  letters,  and  approves 
the  doctrine  it  contains.  Beza  died  early  in  the  seventeenth  century.  The 
extract  runs  thus :  "  Rogatus  piae  memoriae  vir  D.  Calvinus  a  fratribus,  qui 
turn  in  America  erant,  ubi  nullus  est  vini  usus,  liceretne  pro  vino,  uti  in 
coena  Domini,  vel  aqua  simplici,  qua  plerumque  illic  utuntur,  vel  alio  illic 
non  inusitato  potionis  genere  :  respondit,  fuisse  in  hoc  instituendo  sacramento 
consilium,  ut  spirituals  alimoniae  nobis  sub  communis  cibi  et  potus  sym 
bolis  representaret :  ac  proinde,  si  non  fuisset  turn  in  Judaea  communis  vini 
usus,  procul  dubio  alia  vulgari  potione  usurum  fuisse,  quod  ex  ipsius  scopo 
ac  consilio  liqueat.  Itaque  nihil  a  Christi  consilio  ac  voluntate  alienum 
facere  videri,  qui  non  contemtu,  neque  temeritate,  sed  ipsa  necessitate  adacti, 
pro  vino  aliud  in  iis  regionibus  usitatae  potionis  genus  usurparent.  Hoc  D 
Calviui  responsum,  ut  optima  ratione  nixum,  et  Christi  consilio  consenta 
neum,  noster  coetus  adeo  comprobavit,  ut  eos  superstitiose  facere  censuerit 
qui  a  vini  symbolo  usque  adeo  penderent,  ut  alteram  coenae  partem  emitter* 
mallent,  quam  avuAoyor  aliud  symbolum,  ita  cogente  necessitate,  usurpare.' 
"  D.  Calvin,  a  man  of  pious  memory,  being  asked  by  his  brethren,  who  wer* 
then  in  America,  where  wine  was  not  used,  if  it  would  be  lawful  to  use,  at 
the  Lord's  supper,  either  pure  water,  which  was  the  common  drink  there,  ov 
any  oti.er  customary  beverage,  replies,  that,  in  instituting  the  sacrament,  it 
was  intended,  under  the  symbols  of  common  meat  and  drink,  to  represent  a 
spiritual  aliment ;  and,  if  wine  had  not  been  a  common  drink  in  Judea.  at 
that  time,  it  is  clear,  beyond  all  doubt,  from  the  very  scope  and  design  of 
the  institution,  that  some  other  common  beverage  would  have  been  employed. 
Therefore,  those  persons,  who  substituted  some  other  customary  drink  of 
thosr  regions  for  wine,  having  acted  neither  contemptuously  nor  rashly,  but 
from  necessity,  appear  in  no  wise  to  have  contravened  the  will  or  design  of 
Christ.  This  answer  of  D.  Calvin,  full  of  sound  sense,  and  so  agreeable  to 
the  design  of  Christ,  our  assembly  so  entirely  approves,  that  it  considers 
those  as  acting  superstitiously,  who  lay  so  great  a  stress  on  wine,  that  they 
had  rather  omit  the  rest  of  the  supper,  than  employ  any  other  analogous 
•ymbol,  in  such  cases  of  necessity."  We  have  given,  as  w»  believe,  a  fkith- 


APPENDIX.  163 

ftol  translation.  The  opinion  of  D.  Calvin  is  approved,  not  only  by  Beza 
and  Vossius,  but  by  the  "  assembly."  So  far  as  the  opinions  of  D.  Calvin^ 
and  Beza,  and  the  "  assembly  "  are  entitled  to  pass  for  authority,  we  cannot 
doubt,  that,  wherever  the  fruit  of  the  vine  is  not  a  "  common  beverage"  any 
other  innocent  beverage  may  be  employed,  provided  the  communicants  are 
not  moved  to  the  change  by  a  spirit  of  "  rashness  "  or  "  contempt  "  ibr  the 
ordinance.  The  necessity  does  not  seem  to  depend  on  the  fact,  that  not  a 
drop  of  wine  can  be  had,  but  that  it  is  not  a  common  beverage.  If  fer 
mented  wine,  therefore,  were  used  at  the  original  institution,  how  can  it  be 
considered  essential,  under  all  circumstances,  to  a  just  performance  of  the 
rite? 

The  Council  of  Clermont,  can.  28,  enjoins  the  communion  in  both  kinus, 
aiding  two  exceptions,  "  one  of  necessity  and  the  other  of  caution  ;"  the  first 
in  favor  of  the  "  sick,"  the  other  of  the  "  abstemious,"  or  those  who  had  an 
aversion  for  wine.  —  We  now  proceed  to  give  the  remainder  of  the  extract 
from  the  letter  of  Beza.  "  There  were  some,"  says  Vossius,  "  who  might 
object  to  water,  because  of  the  imperfectness  of  the  analogy,  inasmuch  as 
water  was  not  composed  of  many  grapes,  signifying  that  we  are  many 
members  of  one  body :"  "  Deinde  quia  objici  poterat  aquae  in  simile  potione 
non  incsse  avaloytav  illam,  ut  ex  multis  acinis  confiat,  ad  mutuam  conjunc- 
tionem  testandam."  To  this  the  letter  of  Beza  replies  as  follows :  —  "  That 
truly  the  analogy  of  bread,  composed  of  many  grains,  and  wine,  of  many 
grapes,  is  not  to  be  disregarded ;  but  still  it  should  not  be  too  precisely 
enforced  ;  for  it  is  enough,  if  the  unity  of  the  members  be  signified  by  the  use 
of  the  symbols,  that  is,  meat  and  drink,  in  some  kind,  and  by  testifying  the 
same  faith :"  "  Non  esse  quidem  negligendam,  at  non  tamen  adeo  precise 
urgendam  analogiam  panis  ex  multis  granis,  et  vini  ex  multis  acinis  confecti : 
sed  ad  illam  mutuam  conjunctionem  testificandam  sufiicere,  quod  iisdem  in 
genere  symbolis,  nempe  cibo  et  potu  utamur,  eandemque  fidem  testificemur." 

—  A  question  was  afterwards  proposed  in  relation  to  abstemious  persons,  and 
such  as  were  unable  to  take   wine  on  account  of  its  effects:  to  this  he 
replies,  rather  than  omit  the  whole  supper,  let  such  use  water  or  any  other 
customary  drink  ;  nor  doubt  that  the  blood  of  Christ  would  be  as  surely 
communicated  to  him  by  the  symbol  of  such  drink,  as  by  that  of  wine,  since 
the  promise  is  general,  and  refers  to  all  the  faithful:  "  Potius  quam  inte- 
gram  ccenam  non  peragat,  vel  aqua,  vel  alia  sibi  familiar!  potione  utatur : 
neque  dubitet,  tarn  sibi  sub  hoc  potu,  quam  sub  vino,  sanguinem  Christi 
communicari,  cum  promissio  sit  generalis,  et  ad  omnes  fideles  spectet." 

—  Philip  Melancthon   observes,  that  the   Ruthenians   acted  rightly,  who 
substituted  hydromel,  or  honey  and  water,  at  the  eucharist,  on  account  of 
the  scarcity  of  wine.     Upon  this,  Bellarminus  exclaims,  lib.  iv.  c.  24,  de 
Euchar. :  "  Sed  quis  dedit  Philippe  auctoritatem  mutandi  sacramentorum 
materiam  ?  "  —  "  But  who  gave  Philip  authority  to  change  the  material  ot 
the  sacrament?"      Whereupon    Vossius   remarks,  —  "  As  though   Christ, 
in  the  institution  of  the  supper,  referred  not  generally  to  the  utility  of  some 
drink,  but  particularly  to  the  propriety  of  wine  !  "     "  Quasi  Christus  non 
universe  utilitatem  potus,  sed  particulatim  vini  proprietatem  in  institutione 
lespexerit !  "     To  exhibit  the  character  of  Bellarminus,  Vossius  observes, 
—  This   Bellarminus   presently  adds,   "How  much   more  wisely  has   the 
Church  of  Rome  conducted  ;    she  has  not  changed   the  materials  of  the 
•acrament,  but  remedied  its  defects,  by  administering  to  the  people  in 
one  kind :"  "  Q,uanto  sapientius  ecclesia  (Romana)  non  routat  sacramen  • 


J64  APPENDIX. 

torum  materias  ;  sed  incommodo  illi  medetur,  unam  specicm  tantum  mm- 
istrando."  — In  contemplation  of  such  facts,  and  with  the  opinions  of  the 
ancient  fathers  before  us,  is  it  not  perfectly  absurd  to  proclaim,  that  nothing 
can  rightfully  be  employed  at  the  communion,  but  fermented  wine,  a_x» 
that  even  this  cannot  be  mingled  with  water,  without  "an  unhallowed 
innovation  ?  " 

Vossius,  in  his  fourth  thesis,  vol.  vi.  p.  440,  proceeds  to  inquire  "  an 
vinum  aqua  dilui  sit  necesse  :"  if  it  be  necessary  —  not  if  it  be  an  "  unhal 
lowed  innovation  "  —  so  to  mix  the  wine  and  water.  No  person  can  fail  to 
perceive,  that,  however  unnecessary,  in  the  view  of  some  persons,  Vossius 
never  surmised  that  it  was  unlawful,  much  less  an  "  unhallowed  innova 
tion."  Our  readers  are  convinced,  by  this  time,  that  this  most  learned  and 
sagacious  writer  knew  something  more  of  these  matters  than  certain  modern 
divines.  Vossius  expressly  states  —  "  Christum  ipsum  praecipisse,  ut 
aqua  vino  misceatur  sensit  Cyprianus :"  Epist.  63,  ad  Csecilium  :  "  Cyprian 
thinks,  that  Christ  commanded  water  to  be  mixed  with  wine."  Vossius 
also  refers  to  the  third  Council  of  Carthage,  which  decreed  the  same  thing, 
(can.  24,)  that,  in  the  sacrament  of  the  body  and  blood  of  our  Lord,  nothing 
more  should  be  offered  than  the  Lord  himself  delivered,  that  is,  bread  and 
wine,  mixed  with  water :  "  ut,  in  sacramentis  corporis  et  sangumis  Dom 
ini,  nihil  amplius  offeratur,  quam  ipse  Dominus  tradidit,  hoc  est  panis,  et 
vinum,  aqua  mixtum."  Commenting  on  this  opinion,  Gregory  Valentin 
remarks,  that  this  is  much  more  probable  than  the  notion  that  this  practice 
originated  with  the  church :  "  hanc  senteutiam  esse  magis  probabilem,  quanj 
ilia,  ut  solum  Ecclesiastici  sit  praecepti:"  Disput.  vi.  qusest.  11,  de  Euch. 
mat.  punct.  1 .  Gregory  adds,  that  Hosius,  Alanus,  and  Scotus  have  expressed 
the  same  opinion.  These  writers,  says  Vossius,  place  the  foundation  of  this 
opinion  in  the  example  of  Christ,  who,  as  Justin,  Irenaeus,  and  others  of 
the  ancients  inform  us,  diluted  the  wine :  —  "  Fundamentum  hi  sententiae 
suae  ponunt  exemplum  Christi,  quern  diluisse  vinum  tradunt  Justinus,  Ire- 
naeus,  et  alii  veterum."  —  Vossius  is  rather  in  favor  of  omitting  the  water, 
on  the  ground  that  it  is  not  absolutely  necessary,  but  the  notion  never  occurs 
to  him  that  such  mixing  of  wine  with  water  is  unlawful,  or  in  any  way 
improper,  much  less,  that  it  is  an  "  unhallowed  innovation."  On  the  con 
trary,  he  quotes  Justin  Martyr's  words  to  prove  that  bread,  wine,  and  water 
were  employed.  Justin,  who  was  converted,  as  we  stated  before,  A.  D.  1 30,  in 
his  description  of  the  supper,  (apolog.  1 1 ,)  speaks  of  the  eucharistal  bread, 
and  wine  and  water,  "TOV  tvxaQi&tvrog  UQTOV,  xui  oi'vou,  xai  vdaTo$.'r 
It  is  for  the  same  reason,  says  Vossius,  that  Irenseus  speaks  of  the  temper 
ing  of  the  cup ;  "  temperamentum  calicis,"  lib.  iv.  cap.  11.  Cyprian,  con 
tinues  he,  speaks  of  it  in  many  places  ;  so  do  Julius,  Basil,  Gregory,  Chrys- 
ostora,  Jerome,  Augustin,  Proclus,  Bede,  Damascenus,  Rabanus  Mautus, 
Paschasius,  Algerus,  Nicephorus,  and  many  others  of  the.  fathers  and 
ancient  writers.  The  curious  reader  may  find  the  particular  passages  with 
ease,  by  recurring  to  the  references  of  Vossius.  —  The  words  employed, 
at  the  Council  of  Trent,  are  these :  —  The  holy  Synod  admonishes,  there 
fore  that  it  is  commanded  by  the  Church  to  its  ministers,  that  they  shal' 
mix  water  with  the  wine,  in  offering  the  cup,  because  it  is  believed  that 
Christ  our  Lord  did  so,  &c. :  "  Monet  deinde  sancta  Synodus,  praeceptum 
esse  ab  Ecclesia  sacerdotibus,  ut  aquam  vino  in  calice  offerendo  miscerent, 
turn  quod  Christum  Dominum  ita  fecisse  credatur,"  etc.  —  It  is,  surely, 
unnecessary  to  press  this  evidence  any  further. 


THE  LIFE-PKESERVEK. 


Temperai>«<!  ships  are  claiming  and  receiving  a  large  proportion  of  popular  favor.  The  werli  it 
Wo  freo'-.ently  'dnr*>nished  of  their  inestimable  value,  by  the  occurrence  of  nautical  disaiteri 
demonstrated  tj  arise  from  the  employment  of  intoxicating  liquors.  Innumerable  instances  of  the 
<ncst  afflicting  calamities  at  sea,  arising  from  this  prolific  source,  may  be  gathered  from  the  records 
of  navigation,  in  every  age.  The  wreck  of  the  Halsewell  East  Jndiaman,  in  17b5,  upon  the  rocki 
between  Peveril  Peak  and  St.  Alban's  Head,  arose  from  the  drunken  desperation  of  the  crew. 
Upon  that  occasion,  many  lives  were  lost.  Nothing,  however,  excited  the  public  sympathy  more 
•trongly,  than  the  fate  of  Captain  Pearce,  her  commander,  who,  after  every  exertion  to  preserve 
the  passengers  and  crew,  was  swept  overboard  with  his  two  lovely  daughters,  locked  in  the  arms  of 
one  another. 

The  case  of  the  General  Arnold,  wrecked  December  26th,  1778,  is  well  known.  A  particular 
account  of  that  calamity  may  be  found  in  Dr.  Thatcher's  History  of  Plymouth.  "  Those  who  drank 
rum,"  says  the  historian,  "  were  the  more  immediate  victims,  several  being  found  dead,  in  the  very 
Ifot  where  they  drank  it." 

The  Kent,  East  Indiaman,  was  burnt  at  sea,  in  February,  1825,  at  night.  She  was  a  fine  vessel, 
•f  MOO  tons,  and  had  on  board,  at  the  time  of  the  disaster,  2U  military  otlicers,  3-14  soldiers,  43  women, 
68  children,  and  148,  ship's  officers  and  crew.  Of  these,  81  were  buried  in  the  deep.  All  probably 
would  have  shared  a  similar  fate,  had  not  the  ship  Cambria,  guided  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  borne 
down  to  the  rescue.  This  awful  casualty  was  occasioned  by  a  soldier,  who  had  gotten  into  the 
•pirit-rooin,  and  undesignedly  set  fire  to  the  liquor,  which  he  had  come  to  steal. 

The  loss  of  the  steam-packet  Rothsay  Castle  is  familiar  to  us  all.  She  was  wrecked  August,  1831, 
near  Beaumaris,  in  the  Menai  Strait.  Upon  that  occasion,  more  than  one  hundred  men,  women, 
and  children  were  buried  in  the  ocean.  This  awful  disaster  has  always  been  attributed  to  the 
drunkenness  of  the  commander.  He  fell  a  victim  to  his  own  misconduct. 

The  year,  which  has  just  now  closed,  has  left  us  the  record  of  similar  calamities  amidst  our  own 
waters,  —  upon  our  own  shores,  —  involving  deeper  and  more  complicated  misery,  and  a  greater 
•acrifice  of  human  life. 

On  the  ninth  day  of  May,  1837,  at   one  o'clock    in  the   morning,  the   steamer,  Ben  Sherrod,  wat 
by  fire  on  the  river  Mississippi,  upon  her  passage  from  New  Orlea 
ion,  one  hundred  and  fifty  fives  were  lost.     A  commit 
pectable  individuals,  appointed  at  a  public  meeting  i 
laborate  report,  on  the  16th  day  of  May,  18S7.     In  tha 
words:  — 

"  Your  committee  would  further  report,  that,  at  the  time  the  Sherrod  took  fire,  the  hands  on  duty 
ieere  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  having  access  at  all  times  to  a  barrel  of  whiskey,  placed  forward  of 
the  boiler-deck  for  theii  use;  and  that  the  engineer  then  on  duty  was  equally  culpable,  having  fur 
nished  the  Jir  erne  n  with  large  oua  ttities  of  brandy  or  other  spirits,  as  an  inducement  to  keep  up 
excessive  Jires  ,  with  a  view  of  orer  taking  the  Prairie,  then  ahead  of  them." 

The  captain  of  the  Ben  Sherrod  has  published  a  defence,  —  a  matter  of  course.  Had  he  lived,  the 
captain  of  the  Rothsay  Castle  would  also,  in  all  human  probability,  have  published  a  defence.  In 
his  defence,  the  captain  of  the  Ben  Sherrod  boldly  claims  the  reputation  of  unusual  temperance  for 
himself  and  his  boat  ;  at  the  same  time,  he  admits  that  a  keg  of  whiskey  was  always  kept  open,  day 
and  night,  on  deck,  for  the  use  of  the  crew  ;  and  that  he  never  attempted  to  restrain  them  from 
indulging  their  appetites  by  any  other  process,  than  by  expulsion  from  the  boat,  —  when  they  wer» 
dru.itc. 

The  attention  of  the  community  has  been  called  more  recently  to  the  destruction  of  the  steam- 
packet  Home,  on  the  coast  of  North  Carolina.  The  following  little  narrative,  which,  for  reasons 
that  will  become  apparent  to  the  reader,  we  have  called  The  Life-  Preserver,  is  founded  upon  tint 
aarfu'  calamity.  The  names  are  fictitious,  hut  dates  and  circumstances  are  not  materially  varied. 
The  nome  left  New  York  for  Charleston.  S.  C  ,  between  four  and  five  o'clock,  P.  M.,  October  7th, 
1837.  The  crew,  comprising-  olli.-ers,  were  forty-three  in  number,  and  she  had  on  board  between 
n:  lety  and  one  hundred  passengers,  of  both  sexes,  very  many  of  them  of  the  highest  respectability 
and  au>"ding  in  society.  Sixty  hours  had  not  elapsed,  from  'the  moment  of  their  departure,  before 
the  ste.tmer  was  a  wreck,  and  ninety-five  human  beings  were  buried  in  the  deep. 


,          ,  ,  ,  , 

destroyed  by  fire  on  the  river  Mississippi,  upon  her  passage  from  New  Orleans  to  Louisville.  Upon 
that  occasion,  one  hundred  and  fifty  fives  were  lost.  A  committee  of  investigation,  composed  of 
highly  respectable  individuals,  appointed  at  a  public  meeting  in  the  city  of  Natchez,  presented  a 
long  and  elaborate  report,  on  the  16th  day  of  May,  18S7.  In  that  report,  they  employ  the  following 


MEMORY  has  been  called  a  labyrinth  :  —  How  readily  the  smile 
of  an  old  acquaintance,  whom  we  have  not  seen  for  many  years, 
furnishes  a  clew  to  some  of  its  recesses,  and  unfolds  the  record  of 
the  past !  1  encountered  my  old  friend,  Roger  Kennedy,  about  a 
month  ago.  The  last  time  I  had  seen  him  was  on  the  day  of  our 


166  THE  LIFE-PRESERVER. 

reparation  at  the  university.  He  was  wonderfully  altered  Time 
had  come  down  with  all  its  powers  of  alchemy  upon  my  friend 
Roger :  it  had  changed  his  dark  brown  hair  for  a  badger's  gray  ; 
and  ploughed,  and  cross-ploughed  among  his  features,  and  so  varied 
the  surface,  that  not  a  land-mark  remained.  His  keen,  black  eyes 
were  intently  fixed  upon  me,  as  we  drew  more  closely  together.  1 
should  nevertheless  have  passed  him  by,  as  an  utter  stranger,  had 
he  not  revived  my  recollection,  by  one  of  those  good-natured  and 
peculiar  smiles,  which,  in  connection  with  his  admirable  qualities, 
had  obtained  for  him  the  appellation  of  honest  Roger  Kennedy.  It 
operated  like  the  finger  of  magic  ;  and,  in  an  instant,  a  thousand 
ong-buried  images  of  the  past  sprang  from  their  graves.  1  took 
him  home  with  me,  to  the  endangerment  of  my  caste,  at  least  in  the 
eyes  of  Colonel  Faddle,  with  whom  I  happened  to  be  walking,  and 
who,  after  glancing  for  an  instant  at  poor  Roger's  rusty  black,  bade 
me  a  formal  good  morning,  and  left  us  together.  We  gave  the 
residue  of  the  day  to  a  thousand  reminiscences,  the  majority  of 
which  would  have  been  utterly  uninteresting  to  all  the  world  beside. 

Roger  Kennedy  had  long  been  a  country  parson,  living  on  a 
moderate  salary.  His  early  and  consistent  piety  had  adapted  him, 
in  an  eminent  degree,  for  the  holy  office  ;  and  his  happy  disposition 
enabled  him  to  be  more  at  ease  upon  his  humble  competency,  than 
many  an  archbishop  upon  a  princely  revenue.  He  was  a  faithful 
shepherd,  and  an  honest  man  ;  and,  though  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
frequently  preaching  thrice  on  the  Sabbath,  he  never  referred  to  it 
unnecessarily,  nor  solicited  the  sympathies  of  his  parishioners,  on 
account  of  his  Mondayish  feelings.  Notwithstanding  his  apparent 
humility,  no  anxious  competitor  for  a  bishopric  had  ever  a  greater 
share  of  ambition  than  Roger  Kennedy  ;  but  Roger's  highest  am 
bition  was  to  serve  the  Lord,  and  save  the  souls  of  his  fellow-men. 

"  I  have  been  much  gratified,"  said  he,  "to  hear,  that  you  have 
taken  a  lively  interest  in  the  temperance  cause,  and  still  more,  that 
you  have  adopted  the  principle  of  total  abstinence  from  all  intoxi 
cating  liquors.  You  drank  wine  at  college,  I  believe.'"  —  "  Yes,"  I 
replied,  "  and  long  after,  and  well  remember  to  have  taken  a  glass 
now  and  then  with  Roger  Kennedy."  —  "  I  have  not  forgotten  it," 
said  he,  with  a  smile.  "  Neither  of  us,  I  believe,  was  ever  in  tho 
habit  of  taking  ardent  spirit.  However  absurd  it  may  appear  to  us 
at  the  present  day,  wine  was  a  very  common  beverage  for  under 
graduates,  during  our  college  life." — "It  is  by  no  means  aban 
doned  even  at  the  present  day,"  I  replied.  —  "What  an  escape 
some  of  us  have  had  ! "  he  rejoined. 

We  enumerated  more  than  twenty  of  our  class,  who  still  lived 


THE  LIFE-PRESERVER.  167 

intemperate  men,  or  had  died  so  ;  and  several,  who  had  turned  from 
their  early  habi  s  of  indulgence,  and  taken  worthier  courses.  We 
expressed  our  mutual  astonishment,  with  the  record  of  our  college 
life  before  us,  that  any  doubt  should  have  existed,  as  to  the  propriety 
of  comprehending  fermented  liquors  in  the  temperance  pledge. 

"  Pray,  friend  Kennedy,"  said  I,  "  can  you  tell  me  anything  of 
Jack  Montgomery,  whom  we  used  to  call  Ready  Jack,  on  account 
of  the  alacrity,  with  which  he  embarked  in  any  scheme  of  mirth  01 
madness?"  —  "Poor  Jack!"  said  he;  "he  was  not  ready  for  all 
things.  He  was  not  ready  to  die.  Free-thinking  and  free-drinking 
were  the  ruin  of  Jack  Montgomery.  With  all  his  vaunting,  he  died 
a  most  fearful  and  truly  miserable  death."  —  "I  knew  he  was  an 
infidel,"  said  I. — "  He  was  so,"  replied  Kennedy,  "  unlil  a  few 
hours  before  his  death  ;  and  whether  his  dying  declarations  were 
truly  penitential,  or  the  effects  of  terror,  is  known  only  to  the 
Searcher  of  all  hearts.  How  often,  during  our  connection  at  the  uni 
versity,  have  I  walked  and  conversed  with  poor  Montgomery  for 
hours  together,  of  a  moonlight  night,  upon  this  interesting  to^ic ' 
With  the  exception  of  this  melancholy  feature  in  his  character, 
Montgomery  was  an  amiable  man,  until  he  fell  into  habits  of  intem 
perance.  There  was,  as  you  are  well  aware,  all  that  disparity 
between  our  fortunes,  that  lies  betwixt  affluence  and  poverty.  He 
was  kind  to  me,  and  I  made  him  the  only  return  in  my  power, — J 
wept  over  his  miserable  unbelief,  and  prayed  unceasingly  for  his 
conversion.  I  urged  every  reason  upon  his  mind,  with  which  my 
limited  reading  had  supplied  me  ;  and,  at  last,  for  the  sake  of  argu 
ment,  assumed  his  vagaries  to  be  true.  Suppose  the  doctrines  of 
Christianity  are  false,  —  revelation  is  a  legendary  tale, — Christ, 
Calvary,  the  resurrection,  the  judgment  day  are  all  illusion,  —  there 
is  no  God,  —  yet  the  dread  of  death  is  so  very  general,  that  we  give 
to  it,  by  common  consent,  the  appellation  of  the  king  of  terrors. 
Many,  who  are  summoned  to  lay  aside  their  crazy,  time-worn  tab 
ernacles,  filled  with  disease  and  suffering,  are  yet  unwilling  to  com 
ply  !  They  have  drained  the  cup  of  pleasure  to  its  dregs  —  there  is 
nothing  there.  They  know,  that  an  eternal  sleep  will  terminate 
their  sufferings,  and  they  proclaim,  that  death  is  that  eternal  sleep. 
Why,  then,  shrink  from  its  cold  yet  comforting  embrace?  Because 
there  is  still  a  lurking,  inextinguishable  principle  within,  which 
whispers  in  their  ears  —  If  that  sleep  should  not  be  eternal  —  what 
then?  Death,  after  all,  takes  most  men  by  surprise.  If  a  doubt 
remain  upon  the  infidel's  mind  of  entire  annihilation,  that  doubt, 
however  it  may  fail  to  interrupt  his  career,  while  health  and  fortune 
are  at  command,  —  in  a  dying  hour  will  expand,  till  it  burst  tn* 


168  THE  LIFE  PRESERVER. 

agonized  heart  with  despair  and  madness."  —  "  These  are  undoubt 
edly  the  words  of  truth  and  soberness,"  said  I.  "I  perceive,  that 
your  views  have  undergone  no  change,  friend  Kennedy.  Do  you 
recollect  some  lines,  which  you  wrote  at  the  university,  contrasting 
the  last  hours  of  a  Christian  and  an  Infidel?"  — "I  have  an  imper 
fect  recollection  of  them,"  he  replied.  —  "You  gave  me  a  copy 
some  twenty  years  ago,"  said  t,  "  and  I  have  little  doubt,  that  I  can 
readily  find  them  among  my  papers."  — - 1  made  the  search,  and  soon 
plated  before  him  upon  the  table, 

THE  CROSS  AND  CRESCENT. 

In  Holy  Land,  the  fight  was  done, 
And  those  who  lost  and  those  who  won 

In  mingled  carnage  lay  ; 
The  sun  its  parting  lustre  gave, 
While  sacred  Jordan's  modest  wave 

Blushed  in  its  evening  ray. 

And,  when  the  moon  o'er  Hermon  rose, 
Casting  abroad  on  friends  and  foes 

Her  cold,  impartial  beam, 
Christian  and  Moor,  promiscuous  throng, 
Crescent  and  Cross  were  swept  along 

In  Jordan's  hallowed  stream. 

There  rode,  upon  the  Moorish  side, 
A  chief,  that  day,  in  turbaned  pride, 

As  frank  as  Moor  can  be : 
A  braver  Moslem  never  laid 
O'er  Christian  foe  Damascus  blade 

In  holy  chivalry. 

A  gallant  barb  the  Moor  bestrode, 
And  round  the  bloody  field  he  rode, 

Like  tiger  for  his  prize  : 
True  to  his  idol  god,  he  bore 
A  Koran  at  his  belt  before, 

His  guide  to  sensual  skies. 

Athwart  his  way,  his  feet  unshod, 
With  scrip  and  staff,  a  pilgrim  trod, 

Who  sought  the  holy  shrine : 
That  pilgrim  left  his  native  shore, 
With  Richard,  and  his  good  claymore, 

To  tight  in  Palestine. 

11  Do  am,  paynim,  down,"  he  cried,  "and  try 
Who  best  can  fight,  and  calmest  die, 
Where  Jordan's  waters  flow  I  " 


THE  LIFE-PRESERVER.  169 

To  earth,  like  light,  the  Moslem  came, 
In  wrath  invoked  the  prophet's  name, 
And  rushed  upon  his  foe. 

His  scrip  the  pilgrim  cast  aside, 

And  bared  his  blade  ;  "  For  him,"  he  cried. 

"  The  cross  who  freely  bore !" 
Each  gave  one  parting  stroke  and  fell, 
Pilgrim  and  Moorish  infidel ! 

They  fell,  to  rise  no  more ! 

With  flushing  cheek  and  throbbing  heart, 
Each  marks  his  eddying  life-blood  part! 

To  each  his  heaven  is  nigh ! 
Say,  Moor,  can  wine  or  woman's  smile 
Thy  pangs  allay,  thy  fears  beguile? 

Or  can  thy  prophet  lie  ? 

Oh !  mark  that  wretched  paynim  now, 
While  rage  and  anguish  rend  his  brow  1 

His  prophet,  once  adored, 
Despised  and  cursed  ;  his  Koran  rent ; 
His  nerveless  hand,  with  vain  intent, 

Grasps  at  his  broken  sword  ! 

Those  lips,  no  more  in  rage  set  fast, 
Supinely  part ;  the  strife  is  past ; 

The  flickering  purple  flies ! 
His  haggard  eyeballs  fiercely  glare, 
For  Death  has  set  his  signet  there, 

He  bites  the  dust,  and  dies ! 

That  wounded  pilgrim  marked  him  not ; 
This  world  its  cares  and  joys  forgot ; 

"  Thy  will  be  done,"  he  cried  ; 
Against  a  palm  his  shoulders  braced  ; 
Before  him  there  his  falchion  placed, 

Its  hilt  the  cross  supplied. 

Upon  that  cross  his  thoughts  reposed  ; 

His  hands  were  clasped,  his  eyes  were  closed 

And  o'er  his  brow  was  seen 
A  ray  of  mild,  celestial  light ; 
So  smiles  the  pensive  queen  of  night 

O'er  Arnon's  wave  serene. 

When  fled  the  spirit  none  might  know, 
By  flush,  or  pang,  or  mortal  throe  ; 

There  came  no  sob  or  sigh : 
And  less  the  parted  pilgrim  seemed 
Like  dead  man's  corse,  than  one  who  dreamed 

Of  brighter  realms  on  high. 
H.  15 


170  THE  LIFE-PRESERVER. 

The  faithless,  like  the  pagan,  die  ; 
The  hopeless  with  the  Moslem  lie : 

Who  spurn  that  holy  name, 
And  doubt  Jehovah's  awful  power, 
Shall  find  their  doubt  in  dying  hour, 

Despair,  and  rage,  and  shame. 

Calm  as  the  breath  that  gently  blows 
The  soft  perfume  of  Sharon's  rose, 

Abroad  in  summer  skies, 
So  from  the  world  the  just  shall  part : 
The  broken  and  the  contrite  heart, 

That  God  will  not  despise. 

He  read  the  stanzas  with  manifest  pleasure,  and  a  faint  Dinah 
came  over  his  features,  as  he  returned  me  the  manuscript. — "I 
see  the  poet  is  not  quite  extinct,  friend  Kennedy,"  said  I.  —  "I 
have  but  little  time  for  poetry,"  he  replied;  "  a  country  parson's 
life  is  made  up  almost  entirely  of  sober  prose.  I  have  passed  frorr 
theory  to  practice  long  ago.  Those  lines  were  of  course  the 
offspring-  of  fancy.  I  have  been  long  conversant  with  the  grave 
realities  of  life — I  have  often  witnessed  the  death  of  the  faithful 
disciple  and  of  the  impenitent  sinner.  I  have  seen  the  man  of 
vealth,  and  power,  and  worldly  courage,  shivering  like  an  aspen 
leaf  before  this  great  adversary ;  and  I  have  seen  the  poor,  contrite 
sinner  smiling  at  the  approach  of  the  king  of  terrors,  and  triumph 
ing  over  death  and  the  grave."  —  "  My  friend,"  said  I,  "  a  thought 
has  just  now  occurred  to  me ;  you  shall  pass  the  night  with  us,  and, 
in  the  morning,  I  will  leave  it  to  your  candor  to  declare,  if  you  have 
or  have  not  been  compensated,  for  the  devotion  of  your  time  and 
attention.  There  is  in  this  city,  at  the  present  moment,  an  intelli 
gent  man,  in  the  humbler  walks  of  life,  who,  I  am  informed,  can 
relate,  in  a  plain,  sensible  manner,  and  upon  his  own  personal 
experience,  a  narrative  of  considerable  interest,  and  which  may 
serve  to  illustrate  the  power  of  the  gospel  in  a  trying  hour.  I  think 
I  can  find  him  out,  and  persuade  him  to  comply  with  my  request." 
—  My  friend  consented,  and  I  went  forth  to  complete  the  arrange 
ment. 

On  my  return,  I  informed  my  friend  Kennedy,  that  I  had  bet  n 
successful,  and  that  Bill  Atherton  had  promised  to  be  with  us,  at 
an  early  hour  in  the  evening,  and  give  us  a  narrative  of  the  circum 
stances  to  which  I  had  referred.  —  "And  pray,  who  is  Bill 
Atherton?"  inquired  my  wife  and  children.  —  "You  will  see  for 
yourselves,"  I  replied,  "  when  he  arrives.  As  I  have  already 
informed  yuu,  he  is  a  man  in  the  humbler  walks  of  life.  His  dieai 


THE  LIFE-PRESERVER.  171 

and  appearance  may  surprise  you  perhaps,  and  his  manners  may 
possibly  partake  of  the  roughness  of  the  element,  upon  which  he 
has  been  tossed  for  thirty  years.  He  is  a  common  sailor  ,  and.  that 
we  may  have  the  full  benefit  of  his  recital,  we  must  put  him  com 
pletely  at  his  ease,  by  our  unceremonious  reception.  We  must 
treat  him  precisely  as  a  sailor  would  like  to  be  treated."  — 
"  Sha'n't  I  get  him  some  tobacco,  father?"  said  my  youngest  boy. 
— "  No,  no,  my  little  fellow,"  I  replied  ;  "  we  shall  get  on  well 
enough  without  that." 

The  tea  service  had  scarcely  been  removed,  when  Bill  Atherton, 
punctual  to  his  appointment,  rang  the  door-bell,  and  was  ushered 
into  the  parlor.  He  was  a  square-framed,  thick-set,  broad-shoul 
dered  man,  with  dark  complexion  and  weather-beaten  features. 
He  seemed  about  five  and  fifty  years  old.  —  I  welcomed  him  in  the 
most  cordial  manner,  and  introduced  him  to  my  friend  Kennedy, 
and  the  members  of  my  family,  while  my  elder  boy  handed  him  a 
chair.  —  "  You  had  better  take  off  your  great  coat,"  said  my  wife. 
"  It 's  my  pea-jacket,  ma'am,"  said  he,  with  a  little  embarrassment, 
as  he  seated  himself,  and  began  to  twirl  his  thumbs.  This  litttle 
incident  and  Bill  Atherton's  peculiar  tone  of  voice  had  well  nigh 
upset  the  gravity  of  my  children.  It  was  decidedly  the  most 
sonorous  guttural  that  I  had  ever  heard. 

"You  have  been  long  acquainted  with  the  sea,"  said  I. — 
'  Rather  an  old  salt,  your  honor,"  he  replied.  "  And  you  have  seen 
a  great  deal  of  the  world,"  I  continued.  —  "'Most  every  corner 
on  't,  sir,"  he  rejoined.  —  "  My  friend,  Mr.  Kennedy,  and  myself, 
are  very  desirous  of  hearing  an  account  of  your  voyage  in  the 
Volante."  —  "  It 's  rather  an  ugly  yarn  to  spin,  that,  your  honor," 
replied  Bill  Atherton,  as  he  shook  his  head,  and  continued  twirling 
his  thumbs.  "  I  've  told  that  story  over  a  number  of  times,  and  I 
never  slept  sound  arter  telling  it  yet."  —  "  We  are  very  unwilling 
to  give  you  any  trouble,"  said  I ;  "  but  we  should  esteem  it  a  favor, 
if  you  would  give  us  the  narrative."  —  Bill  Atherton  unbuttoned 
his  pea-jacket,  and  taking  half  a  handful  of  tobacco  from  his  right 
cheek,  to  the  astonishment  of  my  wife  and  children  deposited  it 
carefully  upon  the  corner  of  the  white  marble  mantle,  and,  resuming 
his  seat,  recommenced  the  business  of  twirling  his  thumbs.  After 
collecting  his  thoughts  for  some  time,  he  scratched  his  head  with 
his  left  hand,  pulled  up  the  waistband  of  his  breeches  with  the  right, 
and  proceeded  as  follows  :  — 

"When  I  was  first  afore  the  mast,  —  quite  a  youngster,  —  I 
could  reel  off  a  story  at  no  rate.  My  thoughts  were  bright  enough 
But  I  'ra  an  oldish  gort  of  a  feUtfw  now,  a»d  you  must  luake 


172  THE  LIFE-PRESERVER. 

allowance  for  a  poor  sailor,  that's  had  no  laming."  —  "Idcm't 
doubt,"  said  my  wife,  "  Mr.  Atherton,  that  we  shall  be  greatly 
interested  in  the  story."  I  perceived,  however,  that  she  had  no 
little  apprehension  of  a  failure.  Bill  Atherton  was  as  evidently 
cheered  by  my  wifr's  encouraging  remark,  as  was  the  "  last 
minstrel,"  by  the  fair  words  of  the  ladies  of  Branksome,  and  imme 
diately  resumed  his  narrative  with  increasing  confidence. 

"  'Twas  an  odd  sort  of  a  craft.  I  'd  been  used  all  my  days 
to  square-rigged  vessels,  ships  and  brigs,  ye  see.  But  an  old 
messmate  persuaded  me  to  go  aboard  the  steam-packet  Volante, 
Captain  Black,  for  Charleston.  I'd  been  home  from  sea  over  a 
month ;  so  I  thought  I  'd  e'en  take  my  chance,  as  it  did  n't  seem  to 
be  very  easy  to  get  a  foreign  vige,  and  I  couldn't  well  afford  to  be 
landlubbering  it  about  New  York  no  longer.  —  When  I  first  saw 
that  sort  o'  craft,  it  seemed  to  me  the  oddest  thing  in  natur  to  go 
to  sea  in.  Afore  I  shipped,  I  'd  never  been  aboard  one  on  'em  in 
all  my  life ;  and  when  we  was  a  getting  under  way,  I  could  n't,  for 
the  soul  on  me,  help  laughing  right  out.  I  'd  been  used  to  loosen 
ing  fore-topsail,  weighing  anchor,  and  all  that ;  here  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done,  but  to  let  go  the  ropes,  and  a  sort  of  a  black 
smith  with  a  leather  apron,  I  thought  he  was,  — they  called  him  an 
ingineer,  —  pried  upon  a  crow-bar,  and  away  she  went,  like  a 
stream  o'  chalk.  I  didn't  see,  at  first,  what  there  was  for  a  sailor 
to  do ;  but  the  first  mate  soon  set  me  to  work  a  stowing  away  the 
bandboxes  and  trunks.  I  could  hardly  get  along  for  the  women  folks 
and  waiters.  I  should  have  felt  more  at  home  among  bunt-lines 
and  reef-tackles  any  day.  Howsomever,  I  was  in  for  it.  'Twas 
about  half-past  four  o'clock,  on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  the  seventh 
day  of  October,  we  left  the  wharf  in  New  York.  'Twas  pleasant 
weather,  and  the  wind  about  south-west,  rather  light.  The  pilot 
took  us  through  Buttermilk  Channel,  and  left  us  just  arter  we  had 
got  by  Governor's  Island.  We  had  a  crew  of  forty-three,  including 
the  ingineers  and  firemen,  and  about  ninety  passengers.  I  never 
saw  so  many  happy  faces  aboard  ship,  as  when  we  first  left  the 
wharf.  But  they  looked  a  little  down  in  the  mouth  afore  long,  for 
in  less  than  an  hour  arter  we  started,  the  Volante  was  fast  aground 
on  the  Homer  Shoal."  —  "Was  Captain  Black  at  the  wheel?"  I 
inquired.  — "  No,  your  honor,"  replied  Bill  Atherton  ;  "  he  wasn't 
at  the  wheel,  when  she  grounded.  I  never  knew  where  he  was 
at  that  time,  until  an  old  shipmate  showed  me  Captain  Black's 
defence,  about  a  week  ago.  He  says  he  had  gone  below  to  get  out 
the  silver  for  supper,  and  to  let  the  steward  know  how  many  there 
was  aboard  to  yet  down.  So,  ye  see,  while  they  was  a  looking 


THE  LIFE-PRESERVER.  173 

over  the  list  and  a  counting  out  the  spoons,  the  man  at  the  wheel 
—  somebody  called  him  a  '  beetle-head' —  run  us  upon  the  Romer  as 
slick  as  a  whistle.  —  When  Captain  Black  come  up,  and  saw  the 
Volante  heading  off  to  the  eastward,  and  headway  nearly  stopped, 
he  cried  out  to  the  man  at  the  wheel,  '  Hard  a-port !'  and  the  steers 
man  answered  that  the  helm  was  hard  a-port,  but  she  wouldn't 
mind  it.  By  this  time,  *  Beetle-head,'  as  they  called  him,  had 
burrowed  the  boat  pretty  well  into  the  shoal,  for  the  ingines  was 
kept  a  working  al)  the  time.  The  blacksmith  —  I  mean  the  ingi 
neer —  asked  Captain  Black  if  he  shouldn't  work  her  off,  starn 
first,  or,  as  an  old  salt  would  call  it,  boxhaul  her.  So  Captain 
Black  told  him  he  should  n't.  After  he  had  pushed  her  pretty  hard 
on,  and  found  she  wouldn't  go  over,  he  altered  his  mind,  and  told 
the  ingineer  to  take  his  own  way,  and  back  her  off;  and  we  shifted 
the  wood  and  chain-cable  to  the  larboard  side  to  give  her  a  list. 
But  the  tide  was  ebb,  and  'twould  n't  do.  So  the  passengers  had 
time  enough  to  take  their  supper  on  the  Romer  Shoal,  and  there 
was  no  need  of  any  more  hurry  about  the  spoons  ;  for  we  let  the 
fires  burn  out,  and  hung  on  for  five  hours.  'T  was  a  peck  o'  trouble 
from  the  very  beginning.  About  this  time,  the  third  ingineer,  in 
attempting  to  shut  one  of  the  cocks,  scalded  himself  and  two  other 
hands  pretty  bad.  About  seven  o'clock,  we  was  boarded  by  a  Sandy 
Hook  pilot,  and  Captain  Black  axed  him  to  stay  by,  till  we  'd  passed 
the  Hook. 

"About  half  arter  ten  that  night,  when  the  tide  had  riz,  the  cap 
tain  ordered  the  square-sail  hoisted,  and  laid  aback,  —  that  looked 
natural. — The  ingines  was  set  agoing,  and  off  she  went.  Some 
folks  thought  we  could  have  got  off  in  the  same  way,  when  she  first 
touched  the  shoal.  The  Volante  was  a  monstrous  long  craft,  about 
1  ivo  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet,  and  carried  a  terrible  weight  of 
machinery  right  a-midships ;  and,  when  she  struck  so  hard  forward, 
't  was  plain  enough  she  'd  stick  faster  a-midships.  How  they  ever 
expected  to  mend  the  matter,  by  shoving  the  heaviest  part  on  her 
onto  the  shoal,  I  could  n't  see.  We  got  off  at  last,  however,  as  I 
told  ye,  past  the  Hook ;  the  pilot  left  us,  and  we  proceeded  on  our 
vige.  'T  was  n't  thought  the  Volante  had  received  any  injury  by 
running  on  the  Romer,  but  for  some  reason  or  other  there  was  con 
siderable  dissatisfaction  aboard.  Some  was  afraid  the  wind  would 
rise ;  some  said  the  boat  was  on  fire ;  others  thought  she  'd  get 
hogged  on  the  shoal,  and  maybe  spring  a-leak.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  swearing  about  it.  Some  cursed  the  captain  for  not  being 
at  the  wheel,  and  others  cursed  the  shoal  for  being  where  it  was. 
Some  turned  in,  and  some  kept  up  all  night,  and  n  ade  themselves  as 

VOL.  II.  .15* 


174  THE  LIFE-PRESERVER. 

comfortable  as  they  could,  by  smoking  and  drinVlug." —  "Was 
there  a  bar  on  board  the  Volante?"  inquired  my  friend  Koaaedy. — 
"'  Sartin,"  replied  Bill  Atherton,  "  sartin,  your  honor ;  pretty  well 
stocked  it  was,  I  reckon.  Why,  'twould  he  thought  about  as  much 
irreglar  for  one  o'  them  are  steam  craft  to  leave  port  without  plenty 
o'  liquor,  as  for  an  Indiaman  to  put  to  sea  without  a  cable  and 
anchor.  There  was  among  the  passengers  a  couple  of  old  sea-cap 
tains,  who  seemed  rather  oneasy  from  the  time  we  got  on  the 
Romer  ;  'specially  one  on  'em,  a  Captain  Slater,  I  think  they  called 
him.  He  got  out  of  his  beth,  and  cautioned  the  man  at  the  wheel 
not  to  run  too  near  the  land  off  Barnegat  light.  I  don't  s'pose  he 
meant  to  interfere,  but  Captain  Black  didn't  like  him  none  the 
better  for  that.  All  went  on  pretty  well  till  next  day,  Sunday, 
about  noon,  when  the  wind  hauled  to  the  north-east,  and  began  to 
stiffen.  I  thought  we  should  have  a  hit  of  a  storm.  About  that 
time  one  of  the  great  tea-kettles  or  boilers  got  out  o  kelter ;  so  we 
had  to  make  steam  with  t'  other  alone,  and  set  the  square-sail.  To 
enable  the  blacksmith  to  mend  the  kettle,  Captain  Black  put  the 
boat  afore  the  wind,  and  stood  about  south-west.  Slater  told  him 
he  'd  get  on  a  lee  shore,  as  sure  as  a  gun,  if  he  steered  so.  —  Cap 
tain  Black  got  his  back  up,  and  told  him  he  'd  manage  the  boat 
himself.  About  midnight  we  got  both  kettles  agoing  again.  We 
kept  heaving  the  lead,  and  soon  shoaled  into  eleven  fathoms.  Four 
o'clock,  Monday  morning,  the  mate's  watch  was  called,  and  we 
shifted  our  course  to  south-south-east,  until  about  seven  o'clock, 
when  we  got  a  sight  of  land  about  fifty  miles  north  of  Cape  Hatte- 
ras.  The  sea  was  rough  enough,  and  the  wind  blew  a  gale.  A 
good  many  of  the  passengers  came  up  afore  day,  because  the  water 
had  worked  into  their  beths.  Captain  Slater  got  proper  oneasy. 
Said  he  to  Captain  Black,  '  I  warned  you  of  this  last  night ;  you 
see  you  're  on  a  lee  shore,  and  it 's  all  your  fault.  How  will  you 
get  her  off?'  — «  Why,'  said  Captain  Black,  '  with  her  wheels,  to  be 
sure ;  so  long  as  the  ingine  will  work.  I  '11  keep  her  off  any  shore  !' 
—  'Well,'  said  Slater,  —  and  he  looked  pretty  solemn,  I  tell  ye,  — 
'well,'  said  he,  'we  must  make  the  best  of  it.'  —  The  sea  raged 
like  all  possessed,  and  the  wind  blew  a  hurricane.  Matters  looked 
bad  enough.  The  passengers  got  to  be  frightened,  and  the  oldest 
salt  aboard  thought  there  was  good  reason  for  't.  When  a  sea 
**ruck  the  Volante,  you  could  see  her  bend  and  quiver  from  stem  to 
starn.  The  panels  of  the  ceiling  began  to  drop  out  of  their  places. 
She  rolled  and  pitched  so  bad  all  Monday,  that  'twould  have 
been  impossible  to  cook  a  mouthful,  if  anybody  could  have  mustered 
sufficient  app«  tite  to  eat  it.  Very  few  of  the  passengers  had  much 


THE  LIFE-PRESERVER.  175 

desire  for  eating,  I  can  tell  ye.  But  I  can't  say  as  much  about 
drinking.  They  held  on  to  that,  some  on  'em  ;  and  the  haider  it 
blew,  for  a  long  while,  the  more  of  a  thriving  trade  the  bar-keeper 
had  of  it.  Poor  fellow  !  he  went  to  Davy's  locker ;  and  he  'd  no 
time  to  calculate  his  profits  unless  'twas  in  another  world. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  a  saying,  the  storm  was  a  raging  bad  enough. 
'T  was  a  perfect  tempest.  I  never  sailed  over  an  uglier  sea.  Cap 
tain  Black  ordered  jib  and  foresail  to  be  reefed,  supposing  he  might 
need  'em.  About  nine  o'clock  on  Monday  morning,  one  of  the 
ingineers  told  Captain  Black  that  both  boilers  had  gi'n  out.  He 
ordered  the  jib  and  foresail  set,  the  reefs  turned  out,  and  the  boat's 
head  to  land,  to  beach  her.  It  soon  appeared  to  be  the  ingineer's 
blunder ;  the  boilers  had  n't  gi'n  out,  but  one  on  'em  had  got  out 
o'  kelter,  jest  as  it  did  afore.  The  ingineer  soon  fixed  it,  and  the 
captain  then  ordered  jib  and  foresail  taken  in,  and  tried  to  work  her 
off  shore  with  the  ingines.  But,  ye  see,  we  'd  lost  a  bit  by  this 
manoeuvre,  and  soon  found  ourselves  among  the  Wimble  Shoals. 
Some  of  the  passengers  began  to  get  the  boats  ready  for  launching ; 
but  it  seemed  to  me,  that  no  boat  could  live  in  such  a  sea.  In  pass 
ing  the  Wimble  Shoals,  we  received  the  shock  of  three  terrible 
heavy  rollers  on  the  larboard  beam.  They  stove  in  our  after-gang 
way,  and  some  of  the  state-room  windows.  We  then  proceeded  to 
knock  away  some  of  the  forward  bulwarks,  that  the  sea  might  have 
a  fair  breach  through,  for  fear  seme  of  the  seas  might  fill  the  deck 
and  cabin. 

"  'Twixt  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  arternoon,  'twas  discov 
ered  that  the  boat  had  sprung  a-leak.  It  soon  got  about  among  the 
passengers,  and  produced  a  great  deal  of  confusion.  Everybody, 
men,  woman,  and  children,  were  asking  all  sorts  of  questions,  that 
nobody  could  answer.  We  tried  the  ingine-pump,  but  the  leak  con 
tinued  to  gain  upon  us.  All  hands  were  then  set  to  bailing  and 
pumping  —  passengers  as  well  as  crew,  and  without  distinction  of 
age  or  sex.  Those,  who  were  sick,  forgot  their  feeble  health,  and 
fell  to  with  the  strongest.  We  had  a  large  number  of  lady  passen 
gers,  and  every  one  on  'em  had  a  basin,  or  a  pitcher,  or  a  bucket, 
and  worked  for  life.  We  was  all  on  a  footing  then,  your  honor, — 
't  was  no  time  to  think  of  their  fine  clothes,  or  the  rings  on  their 
fingers.  Captain  Slater,  who  seemed  to  be  an  able  seaman,  asked 
for  a  light,  and  went  below  with  a  Captain  Dale,  another  passenger, 
to  find  the  leak ;  but  they  could  n't  find  it,  and  it  continued  to  gain 
upon  us  fast. 

**  We  all  felt  pretty  bad  ;  night  was  coming  on,  and  man's  help 
seemed  to  be  x  miserable  reed.  About  eight  o'clock  that  night,  the 


176  THE  LITE-PRESERVER. 

leak  had  risen  so  high  as  to  put  out  the  furnace  fires.  Ste*  m  could 
do  no  more  for  us ;  and  it  now  seemed  to  be  necessary  to  run  the 
"Volante  ashore,  as  the  only  means  of  safety.  When  it  was  under- 
slood,  that  this  was  resolved  on,  the  stoutest  heart  quailed.  The 
poor  mothers  wept  over  their  children,  and  husbands,  brothers,  and 
fathers,  felt,  no  doubt,  as  though  their  hour  of  separation  was  at 
hand.  There  were  some,  who  cursed  and  swore ;  others  seemed 
frantic ;  some  flew  to  the  bar  for  liquor ;  some  went  to  prayers  ; 
and  others  seemed  stupefied.  Among  all  this  confusion  I  saw  very 
little  like  composure  in  any  part  of  the  boat.  There  was  a  sick 
clergyman  aboard,  a  Mr.  Jones:  he  had  his  wife  with  him;  they 
were  going  to  Augusta.  He  was  in  his  beth,  and  he  never 
looked  more  calm,  I  reckon,  in  his  pulpit,  than  he  did  that  horrible 
night.  A  number  were  gathered  round  him,  and  after  having  a 
chapter  read  to  him,  he  offered  up  a  prayer,  which,  so  far  as  I 
could  judge  from  his  features,  seemed  to  lift  up  his  soul  above  the 
tempest. 

"  Some  time  before  this,  the  bar  was  closed.  During  the  even 
ing,  a  number  of  the  passengers,  who  were  in  liquor  at  the  time, 
and  were  resolved  to  have  more,  made  a  rush  upon  the  bar,  to  break 
it  open,  and  succeeded.  There  were  some,  who  endeavored  to  pre 
vail  upon  the  bar-keeper  to  destroy  his  liquors;  but  he  couldn't 
make  up  his  mind  to  such  a  dreadful  sacrifice  of  his  property. 
Poor  fellow  !  I  've  told  ye  already,  that  he  did  n't  live  to  enjoy  his 
gains.  They  then  called  the  second  mate,  who  laid  about  him  with 
a  heavy  hand,  and  the  contents  of  the  demijohns,  bottles,  and  kegs, 
were  soon  mixed  with  the  salt  water." 

"Mr.  Atherton,"  said  I,  "it  has  been  currently  reported,  that 
Captain  Black  was  intoxicated.  What  is  your  opinion  upon  that 
point  ?"  —  "  Please  your  honor,"  said  he,  "  you  can  judge  as  well  as 
I.  I  'd  a  little  rather  not  give  any  opinion  about  it.  Captain  Slater 
ami  ten  other  passengers  have  published  a  certificate  that  he  was 
intoxicated.  He  says  he  wasn't,  and  that  he  only  drank  two 
glasses  of  Port  wine  and  water,  and  two  of  cordials.  Captain 
Black  has  published  the  affidavits  of  six  or  seven  of  his  crew  to 
prove  that  he  wasn't  intoxicated." — "Had  the  captain  any  private 
store  of  liquors  in  his  state-room,  or  was  there  any  liquor  upon 
deck?"  inquired  Mr.  Kennedy.  —  "I  don't  know  that  he  had," 
replied  Bill  Atherton.  —  "  There  was  a  keg  of  spirit  brought  up  for 
the  firemen  and  the  rest  of  the  crew.  I  don't  know  that  the  captain 
drank  any  on  it.  He  says,  as  I  have  told  you,  that  he  drank  noth 
ing  but  Port  wine  and  cordials."  —  "Noah,"  said  Mr.  Kennedy 
*  was  drunken,  after  he  became  a  husbandman,  on  the  pure  juice 


THE  LIFE-PRESERVT5R.  177 

of  the  graps,  on  unenforced  wine.  If  he  had  permitted  a  ban  to  be 
kept  on  board  the  ark,  and  had  himself  drunk  Port  wine  and  cor 
dials,  his  navigation  might  not  have  been  so  successful  as  it  was."  — 
"Were  the  other  captains,  Slater  and  Dale,  addicted  to  liquor?" 
said  I.  —  "Captain  Black,  in  his  defence,"  replied  Bill  Atherton, 
"stated,  that  Captain  Dale  was  intoxicated;  but  nobody  ever  said 
anything  of  the  sort  about  Captain  Slater."  —  "You  have  said," 
observed  Mr.  Kennedy,  "  that  Captain  Slater  and  ten  other  passen 
gers  have  published  a  statement,  that  Captain  Black  was  intoxi 
cated.  Was  anything  said  about  Captain  Black's  intoxication  dur 
ing  the  voyage?"  —  "O  yes,  your  honor,"  replied  Bill  Atherton. 
"  I  was  a-going  on  to  tell  ye.  We  had  set  the  square-sail,  and 
't  was  no  sooner  set  than  it  split  from  foot  to  head  ;  so  we  hauled  it 
down ;  and  as  the  fires  were  out,  we  made  slow  progress  towards 
the  shore,  and  you  can  have  no  idee  of  the  misery  on  every  counte 
nance.  Everything  that  could  be  torn  up  for  lashing,  was  rent  into 
strips,  chiefly  the  blankets,  and  tied  round  the  men  *nd  women, 
ready  to  lash,  who  still  kept  on  bailing.  Captain  Black  \\as  then 
in  the  wheel-house.  Captain  Slater  came  up,  and  told  him  ne  had 
come  to  take  charge  of  the  boat.  *  What  for?'  said  Captain  Black. 
— '  Because  you  are  intoxicated,'  said  Captain  Slater.  *  You  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  Clear  out.'  "  —  "And  pray,"  said  Mr. 
Kennedy,  "what  did  he  reply?"  — "  Why,"  said  Bill  Atherton, 
"he  looked  up,  and  says  he,  'Who  says  soT  —  Captain  Slater 
then  told  him  Mr.  Motley,  the  mate,  said  so ;  and  being  called  by 
Captain  Bla^k,  Motley  said  that  the  passengers  said  so.  1  've  heard 
Captain  Slater  say  that  Captain  Black  resisted  a  little  at  first,  but 
finally  gave  up  the  command,  and  did  not  resume  it :  this,  Captain 
Black  denies  in  his  defence.  One  thing  is  sartin,  if  we  had  not 
carried  liquor,  and  had  not  had  a  bar  aboard  the  Volante,  we  should 
have  been  spared  all  this  dispute  about  who  was  drunk  and  who 
was  n't* 

"  The  water  was  over  the  cabin  floor.  Some  began  to  think  of 
launching  the  boats.  About  eleven  at  night,  all  were  obliged  to 
leave  the  cabin,  as  the  boat  had  settled  so  that  her  deck  was  nearly 
flush  with  the  water.  About  this  time,  those  on  the  forecastle 
shouted,  Land!  land!  —  But  there  was  no  land,  —  nothing  but  the 
roaring  breakers  to  be  seen  right  ahead.  Just  afore  we  struck, 
two  of  the  passengers,  with  the  assistance  of  some  of  the  sailors, 
atterrpted  to  sive  their  lives  in  one  of  the  quarter  boats.  There 
came  a  sea,  and  swept  it  from  the  davits  in  a  jiffy,  and  carried  off" 
one  of  the  poor  fellows,  who  was  instantly  swallowed  up  in  the 
•urge.  Mr.  Motley,  the  niate,  and  several  of  the  passengers,  ten  or 


178  THE  LIFE-PRESERVER. 

twelve  of  them,  oegan  to  launch  the  long-boat.  'T  was  stark  mad 
ness,  your  honor ;  we  was  right  in  with  the  breakers  ;  the  long-boat 
was  swamped  in  an  instant,  and  the  whole  that  were  in  her  perished. 

"  It  seemed  every  moment  that  we  should  strike  among  the 
breakers.  They  were  close  under  our  bows,  and  looked  like  the 
very  jaws  of  death.  'Twas  a  dreadful  scene, — the  moon  broke 
through  the  clouds  now  and  then,  and  gave  us  a  clear  view  of  the 
whole  misery.  The  passengers,  all  looking  for  the  means  of  safety, 
had  gathered  into  groups.  Here  was  a  man  and  his  wife  ;  there  a 
mother  and  her  daughters  ;  in  one  place  were  gathered  a  whole 
family  of  six  persons  ;  in  another  stood  a  solitary,  unprotected 
female,  who  was  returning  home  to  her  friends. 

"  Just  at  this  time,  a  young  man,  who  had  a  life-preserver^  had 
strapped  it  under  his  arms,  and  was  congratulating  himself  upon 
his  good  fortune.  Another,  who  was  evidently  intoxicated,  and  who 
was  cursing  and  swearing,  told  him  he  would  n't  give  a  pinch  of 
snuff  for  his  life-preserver ,  and  said  he  wouldn't  take  it  for  his  own, 
and  boasted  that  he  had  prepared  himself  for  the  worst,  long  before, 
and  had  a  much  better  life-preserver  in  his  own  stomach,  (meaning 
his  grog.)  At  this  moment,  Mr.  Jones,  the  clergyman,  that  I  told 
ye  of,  drew  near  the  spot.  Though  very  feeble,  he  was  supporting 
his  wife  as  well  as  he  was  able.  He  wore  the  same  calm  expression 
that  I  had  noticed  before.  We  were  then  just  in  the  breakers,  and 
some  one  exclaimed,  'She'll  strike  in  a  moment, — there's  no 
hope!'  — when  the  clergyman  replied,  '  He  that  trusts  in  Jesus  is 
safe,  even  amid  the  perils  of  the  sea  /'  ' 

Bill  Atherton  paused  in  his  narrative,  and  my  friend  Kennedy 
wiped  the  tear  from  his  eye.  "  This  holy  man,"  said  he,  after  a 
short  interval,  "  had  indeed  a  life-preserver,  sufficient  to  bear  him 
safely  over  the  bitter  waters  of  this  painful  life  to  the  confines  of 
eternity  and  the  bosom  of  his  God." 

We  sat  in  silence  for  some  time.  Perceiving  that  we  expected 
to  hear  the  residue  of  this  distressing  narration,  Bill  Atherton  shook 
his  head,  and  recommenced  as  follows:  —  "It's  hard  telling  the 
rest  on  't,  your  honor.  —  Let 's  make  it  as  short  as  we  can.  —  She 
struck  at  last,  and,  immediately  heeling  to  windward,  presented  her 
exposed  deck  to  the  force  of  the  winds  and  waves.  This  was  indeed 
a  moment  of  unspeakable  horror.  The  first  great  surge  that  came 
combing  over  us,  swept  off  its  victims,  how  many  I  cannot  say ;  but 
I  noticed,  when  it  had  passed  over,  that  the  good  clergyman  and  his 
wife  were  both  gone."  —  "  Gone  to  the  mansions  of  the  just  made 
perfect,"  exclaimed  my  friend  Kennedy,  with  evident  emotion. — 
'*  No  doubt  on 't,  your  honor,"  said  honest  Bill  Atherton.  —  "  Many 


THE  LIFE-PRESERVER.  179 

of  the  passengers,  and  particularly  the  ladies,  rushed  forwaid  after 
the  first  wave  had  passed  over  us.  — Then  there  came  another,  and 
once  more  swept  the  deck  ;  the  shrieks  of  the  victims  were  louder 
than  the  storm  or  the  crashing  timbers  of  the  Volante.  When  that 
wave  had  passed,  I  looked  round  with  astonishment  and  horror,  as  I 
marked  the  monstrous  havoc  it  had  made.  There  were  few  remain 
ing  then.  —  I  was  looking  towards  the  next  coming  wave.  I  saw 
it  strip  a  baby  from  its  mother's  arms,  —  the  poor  woman  sprang 
from  the  deck  with  a  loud  shriek,  and  leaped  into  the  foam,  after 
the  child.  Every  wave  did  its  work  ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
scene  of  horror,  one  of  the  passengers,  in  the  vain  hope  of  calling 
assistance,  kept  on  tolling  the  steam-boat  bell. 

"  A  number  of  the  survivors  had  taken  shelter  on  the  lee-side  of 
the  boat,  in  the  passage,  that  leads  from  the  after  to  the  forward 
deck.  They  were  chiefly  ladies  and  children,  and  some  few  gen 
tlemen,  who  had  the  charge  of  them.  There  were  thirty  or  forty 
collected  in  this  passage.  Escape  seemed  impossible.  The  decks 
were  swept  of  everything.  The  bulwarks  were  all  gone,  smack 
smooth.  Among  those  in  this  passage  was  a  gentleman,  supporting 
his  wife  on  one  arm,  and  one  of  his  daughters  on  the  other.  A  boy, 
about  twelve  years  old,  stood  by  his  side,  holding  upon  his  father's 
garments.  —  'Father,'  said  he,  'dear  father,  you  will  save  me, 
won't  you? — you  can  swim  to  the  shore  with  me,  can't  you, 
father?'  —  They  were  all  lost.  —  I  got  ashore  myself,  with  a  few 
others,  on  the  topgallant  forecastle.  Of  the  passengers,  twenty 
only  were  saved,  and  seventy  perished  in  the  deep. 

"  During  the  raging  of  the  tempest,  and  after  the  Volante  had 
struck  among  the  breakers,  one  of  the  lady  passengers,  who  had 
been  swept  overboard,  was  seen  clinging  to  the  side,  and  imploring 
for  help.  Two  gentlemen,  at  great  hazard,  ventured  to  her  assis 
tance,  and  with  no  little  exertion  drew  her  on  board,  and  lashed  her 
to  a  piece  of  timber.  She  was  one  of  the  only  two  females,  who 
escaped  with  their  lives. 

"  With  the  assistance  of  the  people  of  the  island,  we  buried  such 
of  the  dead,  as  were  cast  upon  the  shore  ;  and  those  of  us,  whom 
the  tempest  had  spared,  as  soon  as  it  was  in  our  power,  turned 
away  from  the  scene  of  our  late  disaster,  and  bent  our  steps  in  the 
direction  of  our  several  homes." 

"  It  is  an  awful  and  a  most  impressive  lesson,"  said  Mr.  Kennedy, 
"  and,  whether  this  disaster  be  attributable  to  the  unseaworthiness 
of  the  vessel,  or  the  drunkenness  of  the  captain,  or  the  fury  of  the 
Btorm,  or  to  all  these  causes  combined,  it  presents  before  us  a  most 
affecting  picture  of  the  vanity  of  all  earthly  hopes.  Here  were 


180  THE  LIFE-PRESERVER. 

ninety  human  beings  counting  with  all  confidence  upon  even  sea* 
and  prosperous  gales  ;  anticipating  the  speedy  completion  of  their 
schemes  of  pleasure  or  of  profit,  —  some  calculating,  with  unerring 
certainty,  upon  the  fortunate  consummation  of  their  commercial 
projects,  —  others  elate  with  the  delightful  assurance  of  ere  long 
embracing  their  friends,  their  parents,  their  wives,  their  husbands. 
How  solemn,  how  awful  the  contrast !  The  angel  of  death  was 
even  then  the  companion  of  their  melancholy  way,  ready,  at  the 
appointed  moment,  to  whisper  in  their  ears,  —  There  is  no  work, 
nor  device,  nor  knowledge,  nor  wisdom,  in  the  grave,  whither  thou 
goest.  Let  us,  then,  be  wise,  while  we  may  profit  by  our  wisdom. 
We  are  all  upon  the  voyage  of  life,  and  shall,  ere  long,  enter  upon 
the  broad  waters  of  eternity.  —  Let  each  one  gird  on  the  only  LIFE- 
PRESERVER,  which  can  sustain  him  in  every  trial,  —  the  whole  armor 
of  righteousness  upon  the  right  hand  and  upon  the  left,  remember 
ing  that  HE  WHO  TRUSTS  IN  JESUS  IS  SAFE  EVEN  AMID  THE  PkRIL* 

OF  THE  SEA!" 


AS  A  MEDICINE. 


Moth 
•eforra 


ling,  »h«rt  ef  its  entire  annihilation,  can  be  more  acceptable  to  the  enemies  of  the  temperaat* 
,  tnan  the  inconsistencies  of  its  friends.  The  opponents  of  this  righteous  enterprise  ar« 
orever  on  the  alert,  to  uetect  the  slightest  deviation,  on  the  part  of  its  advocate*,  in  any  particular, 
nowever  insignificant  it  may  be.  The  rum-dealer,  who  carries  his  tspionagt  to  the  very  celltr*  of 
the  friends  oftemperance,  should  he  there  discover  a  solitary  bottle  of  light  French  wine,  conclude* 
its  proprietor  to  be  a  hypocritical  partaker  of  the  means  of  drunkenness,  as  surely  aa  the  over- 
xeafous  virtuoso  infers  a  mastodon  from  every  grinder  that  he  find*. 

We  object  not  to  a  good  word,  in  behalf  of  temperance,  from  the  wine-drinker  himself;  though  v. 
unquestionably  acquires  additional  influence,  when  uttered  by  a  cold-water  man.  No  apparent 
inconsistency  has  been  more  frequently  trumpeted  abroad,  bv  the  enemies,  and  occ»sicntllyl)y  the 
friends  of  te-mperance,  than  the  conduct  of  the  rich,  who  call  upon  the  poor  to  give  up  their  cbftap 
and  m.jij  ir.ebri.-ints,  while  they  themselves  refuse  to  relinquish  their  wine.  It  ii  high  tiT.e  that 
tka»  matm  should  be  correctly  stated.  It  is  certainly  desirable  that  rich  and  poor  should  nurran- 
der  their  wine,  and  every  other  intoxicating  material,  upon  those  altars  of  domestic  recess  and 
national  concord,  whose  foundations  would  receive  additional  support  from  such  a  surrender  aa  thi*. 
Nevertneles*,  vri  perceive  nothing  more  of  inconsistency  in  the  conduct  of  the  rich  man,  who  drink* 
wine,  and  yet  calls  upon  the  poor  man  to  relinquish  his  rum,  tb'in  in  the  conduct  of  the  poor  man, 

Does  the  poor  man  say  that  wine  is  as  injurious  for  the  rich  man,  as  rum  is  for  himself?  Be  it  *p. 
The  poor  man's  language  is  this  —  You  and  I  are  bent  upon  destruction.  Total  abstinence  will 
relieve  us  both.  I  have  ho  interest  in  you.  On  the  whole,  I  had  a  little  rather  you  should  destroy 
yourself  than  not,  for  I  should  be  pleased  to  establish  my  theory,  that  wine  will  kill.  Nevertheless, 
I  am  resolved  to  destroy  myself  with  rum,  unless  you  give  up  your  wine  1  However  extraordinary 
it  may  appear,  for  one,  who  is  poisoning  himself  w.  'i  arsenic,  gravely  to  advise  his  neighbor  to 
abstain  from  the  use  of  Prussic  acid,  his  advice  is  not  the  less  excellent  on  that  account. 

It  cannot  be  denied,  however,  that  all  those  advocates  of  temperance  are  destined  to  labor  to  very 
little  purpose,  who  are  not,  in  faith  and  practice,  TOTAL-ABSTINENCE  MEN. 

How  far  even  the  medicinal  employment  of  any  alcoholic  liquor  may  hereafter  be  permitted  to 
form  an  exception,  from  this  practice  of  total  abstinence,  is  matter  for  grave  inquiry.  Medical  men 
—  we  speak  of  those  who  are  members  of  total-abstinence  societies — differ  in  their  opinions  upon 
this  important  point.  In  the  estimation  of  many  persons,  certain  kinds  of  intoxicating  liquor  are 
among  the  most  agreeable  materials  in  the  pharmacopoeia  ;  individuals,  who  would  call  in  the  doctor 
in  many  other  cases,  and  for  the  administration  of  most  other  medicines,  appear  to  feel  themselves 
abundantly  competent,  on  the  strength  of  their  previous  practice,  to  prescribe  for  themselves.  We 
are  confident,  that  no  unfrequent  occasion  for  reproach  has  arisen  from  this  cause,  amoug  th* 
professing  friends  oftemperance. 


IT  was  an  observation  of  my  grandmother,  that  nothing  is  more 
wonderful  than  that  we  wonder  at  all.  Few  things  are  more  diffi 
cult  than  to  wonder  by  rule.  So  jealous  are  certain  individuals  of 
their  reputation  for  taste  and  knowledge,  that  they  would  sooner  be 
detected  in  the  very  act  of  cutting  their  cousins  of  the  whole  blood 
for  the  heinous  crime  of  honest  poverty,  than  in  any  natural  expres 
sion  of  wonder  or  delight.  Nil  admirari  is  their  maxim  forever. 
They  have  dealt,  or  would  be  thought  to  have  dealt,  so  entirely 
with  the  sources  of  superlative  delight,  that  the  bare  possibility  of 
comparative  enjoyment  is  abolished  altogether  from  their  code  of 
eensations.  No  dancing  is  entitled  to  commendation,  for  they  have 
witnessed  the  pirouettes  of  Madame  Vestris  —  no  performance  on 
the  violin,  for  they  have  listened  to  Paganini. 

These  reflections  were  produced,  while  passing,  of  late,  through 
the  highest  hills  of  ^ew  England.  At  every  house  among  these 

tot.  ii.  16 


182  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

mountains,  where  the  visitor  may  happen  to  repose,  an  album  ia 
exhibited  before  him,  in  which,  if  it  suit  his  fancy,  he  may  enrol 
his  name,  his  residence,  his  destination,  his  achievements  among  the 
hills,  and,  if  he  see  fit,  some  grateful  commendation  of  his  host  and 
hostess.  Therein  he  may  also  indulge  his  humor,  whether  moral, 
political,  or  geological.  Upon  one  of  these  caravansary  records,  I 
was  particularly  struck  by  the  remarks  of  a  Gallican  coxcomb,  in 
his  native  language.  He  had  visited  the  Alps,  forsooth,  and  en 
rolled  his  autograph  in  the  album  of  the  grand  Chartreuse.  He  had 
teen  upon  the  mountains  of  Switzerland,  and  could  discover  nothing 
worthy  of  admiration  among  the  White  Hills  of  New  Hampshire. 
I  turned  away  from  this  paltry  ebullition  of  conceit ;  and,  as  I  cast 
my  admiring  gaze  upon  the  cloven  rock,  the  gorge  of  these  stupen 
dous  hills,  which  furnishes  the  only  defile  for  the  traveller,  1 
inwardly  rejoiced,  that  I  had  not  neutralized  my  power  to  enjoy  the 
majestic  scene  around  me  —  that,  as  yet,  I  had  not  visited  the 
mountains  of  Switzerland.  The  majestic  hills  of  the  Granite  State 
must  ever  continue  an  object  of  deep  and  solemn  interest  to  him, 
who  delights  to  contemplate  the  wonders  of  creation.  Here  they 
stand,  just  as  they  stood,  when  baptized  by  their  aboriginal  proprie 
tors,  of  yore  —  the  Tuckaway,  the  Chocorua,  the  Ossapy,  and  the 
Kyarsarge ;  the  Mooshelock,  the  Sunapee,  and  the  Monadnock ; 
and  last  and  loftiest  of  them  all.  the  Agiocochook  :  —  truly,  as  we 
are  informed  by  Sterne,  there  is  something  in  a  name.  —  Agioco 
chook  was  the  appellation,  bestowed  by  the  red  man,  upon  that 
portion  of  these  hills,  which  is  now  designated  as  the  White  Moun 
tains.  In  olden  time,  when,  according  to  an  ancient  tradition  of  the 
red  men,  their  country  was  overwhelmed  with  water,  the  highest 
pinnacle,  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington,  alone  remained  uncov 
ered  above  the  flood.  Thither  Powaw  and  his  wife,  who  had  been 
forewarned  of  the  coming  deluge,  fled  for  safety ;  and  by  them  the 
whole  country  was  peopled  anew.  Such  was  the  legend  of  the 
Indian.  But  the  red  man's  Gilboa,  those  high  places  of  safety, 
which  knew  him  of  old,  shall  know  him  no  more. 

Upon  a  lovely  morning  in  the  month  of  August,  we  had  taken 
leave  of  the  little  village  of  Franconia.  We  were  slowly  ascending 
ihosc  long  hills,  over  which  the  traveller  must  pass,  on  his  way  to 
that  remarkable  notch  or  defile,  which  borrows  its  name  from  this 
busy  hamlet,  whose  clamorous  trip-hammers  have  long  since  broken 
forever  the  silence  of  these  mountains,  and  scared  the  hill-fox  from 
his  covert.  The  sun  had  risen  with  uncommon  splendor ;  and,  to 
us  who  looked  upon  the  surrounding  scene  with  Netherlander^' 
igre»«  there  appeared  not  ihe  slightest  prospect  of  unfavorable 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  1§3 

weather.  Masses  rf  vapor  lay  low  at  the  bases  of  the  mountains 
before  us ;  but  tho  searching  rays  of  a  solstitial  sun  would  not  avffor 
them  long  to  lie  in  idleness  there.  Light,  flocky  clouds  were  soon, 
perceived,  almost  01*  a  silvery  brightness,  flitting  along  the  si(3ef» 
of  the  mountains.  Ere  long  they  assumed  a  darker  hue,  aM 
appeared  to  be  forming  in  closer  column.  Here  and  there,  among 
the  distant  gorges  of  the  hills,  the  rapid  motion  of  these  rolling 
clouds  indicated  that  the  winds  were  at  work,  driving  the  sluggish 
vapors  forth  from  the  defiles  and  intervals.  All,  however,  was  calm 
and  delightfully  serene  in  our  immediate  vicinity.  The  summits  of 
the  mountains  were  still  high  above  the  clouds,  and  in  full  enjoy 
ment,  like  ourselves,  of  the  morning  sun. 

When  I  was  a  boy,  I  conceived  a  high  respect  for  a  cock  in  my 
father's  barn-yard.  He  was  called,  most  deservedly  withal,  the 
prophet.  Often,  when  doubtful  of  the  propriety  of  carrying  my 
plans  of  childish  pleasure  into  execution,  by  reason  of  the  ambigu 
ous  aspect  of  the  morning,  I  have  sought  out  the  prophet ;  and,  when 
he  mounted  the  fence,  clapped  his  golden  wings,  and  sent  forth  his 
clarion  note,  it  was  perfectly  oracular.  I  would  not  have  believed 
Pythia  upon  her  tripod  to  the  contrary.  He  never  deceived  me ; 
and,  when,  after  he  had  served  his  day  and  generation,  the  poor 
fellow  came  at  last  to  be  boiled,  I  ate  no  dinner  upon  that  memo 
rable  day,  though  I  had  my  choice  of  a  leg  or  a  wing  of  the  prophet. 
In  our  lowland  chanticleers  I  have  great  confidence ;  but  in  the 
cocks  of  the  mountains  I  shall  never  more  put  my  trust.  Such 
crowing  and  clarionetting  I  have  seldom  heard,  as  filled  the  air  upon 
the  morning  to  which  I  refer;  and,  so  far  as  I  understand  the  Gallic 
language,  I  am  confident  there  was  a  decided  majority  in  favor  of 
fair  weather. 

"  I  think  we  shall  not  have  any  rain  to-day,"  said  I,  addressing 
an  old  mountaineer,  whom  we  met  among  the  hills,  with  his  rifle 
on  his  shoulder.  "  Sha'n't  we  though1?"  said  the  old  man;  u  I 
guess  as  how  ye  "re  from  below  a  purty  considerable  piece.  Ye 
baant  so  well  read  in  the  signs  hereabouts,  as  them  on  us  that 's 
been  up  in  these  here  craggy  places  for  seventy  years,  egg  and  bird. 
There's  my  almniok,"  continued  he,  pointing  to  the  mountains ; 
"  when  ye  see  the  scud  thickening  up  alongside  o'  the  mountains  arter 
that  are  fashion,  ye  '11  have  a  storm  and  a  tougher,  see  if  ye  don't. 
It  '11  be  a  'tarnal  wet  day,  I  tell  ye.  It 's  a  fixin  for  a  raal  pelter." 

Ere  long  the  old  soothsayer's  prediction  began  to  be  fulfilled. 
Tne  mist  became  a  drizzling  rain,  with  occasionally  a  few  large, 
heavy  drops  intermixed.  The  deep,  dark  clouds  had  completely 
hoodwinked  the  sun,  whose  rays,  but  a  short  time  before,  had 


.T94  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

tinf.r.i  the  summits  of  the  highest  hills.  The  muttering  thunder, 
a.i  a  distance,  admonished  us  to  press  forward  with  all  convenient 
yppwl.  Our  party  had  already  reconciled  themselves  to  their  il, 
fl-nune,  in  losing  the  present  opportunity  of  beholding  one  of  the 
ui-ipf  wonders  of  the  Franconia  Notch;  they  were  therefore  most 
agreeably  surprised,  when,  upon  casting  their  eyes  upward,  in 
obedience  to  the  direction  upon  the  guide-board  at  the  road-side, 
they  obtained,  though  for  a  brief  space,  a  view,  full  and  distinct,  of 
the  "old  man  of  the  mountain."  The  clouds  were,  for  a  few 
moments,  as  the  mariner  would  say,  clewed  up,  and  this  extraordi 
nary  freak  of  nature  was  plainly  presented  to  our  view,  beetling 
forth  over  the  very  summit  of  the  bald  and  almost  perpendicular 
rock.  Praxiteles  could  not  have  done  it  better,  if  he  had  been 
employed  to  perpetuate,  upon  the  pinnacle  of  the  Rocky  Mountain, 
the  chief  of  those  giants,  who  piled  Pelion  upon  Ossa. 

The  flashes  of  lightning  became  more  frequent  and  vivid ;  and  the 
peals  of  thunder,  rattling  around,  above,  and  beneath  us,  and  rever 
berating  from  mountain  to  mountain,  warned  us  to  be  gone.  So 
we  bade  adieu  to  the  defile,  and  left  the  "  old  man,"  in  his  glory. 

It  was  in  truth  a  most  pitiless  storm.  Thunder,  lightning,  wind, 
and  rain,  like  angry  gamesters,  were  playing  at  all-fours  among  the 
hills.  Our  carriage,  nevertheless,  was  perfectly  dry  within,  and 
we,  the  inmates,  were  thoroughly  protected  from  the  rain  ;  but 
our  coachman  poor  fellow,  was  drenched  to  the  skin.  It  was  an 
occasion,  upon  which  a  peevish  and  querulous  Jehu  might  have 
displayed  his  preeminent  qualities  to  perfection,  and  have  become  as 
pestilent  as  any  heretic.  —  "A  tremendous  storm,  Thomas,"  said  I, 
having  lowered  the  front  window  half  an  inch,  that  I  might  be 
heard.  "A  fine  rain,  indaad,  sir,  it  is,"  he  replied,  "  very  much 
naaded."  —  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  thought  I,  was  a  fool,  compared 
with  such  a  philosopher  as  this.  Shortly  after,  he  struck  up  a  kind 
of  lullaby  measure,  of  which  we  caught  only  the  chorus : 

"  I  'm  trying  to  plase  ye  ; 
Why  can't  ye  be  aisy  ?" 

1  was  so  much  pleased  with  this  evidence  of  his  good  temper,  that  I 
opened  the  window  again,  to  inquire  if  he  expected  to  lay  the  tem 
pest.  "It's  jist  that,  your  honor,"  said  he;  "  saft  wards  tarns 
a  way  wrath,  sir." 

The  rage  of  the  elements  became,  at  length,  too  mighty  to  be 
Dome  in  the  open  field ;  and  we  looked  earnestly  ahead,  at  every 
turn  of  the  road,  for  some  place  of  refuge.  Our  eyes  were  at  last 
regaled  by  the  appearance  of  a  little  sign  at  the  road-side.  Blown 


AS  A  MEDICINE,  \Sf> 

almost  horizontally  by  the  driving  wind,  it  had  well-nigh  es35.pt:  J 
our  observation.  "  Sowl  o'  me,  if  it  is  n't  the  "otel,"  cried  Thoiucu,, 
"  what  there  is  o'  it."  We  were  soon  certified,  by  the  aiaioo; 
illegible  characters  upon  the  sign,  that  it  was  even  so.  The  brute 
has  the  best  of  it,  thought  I,  as  I  glanced  at  the  common  advertise 
ment,  "Entertainment  for  man  and  beast,"  measuring  at,  the  same 
moment  with  my  eye  the  dimensions  of  a  wretched  shanty,  whose 
exterior  was  rather  unattractive.  The  door-way  appeared  to  be 
guarded  by  a  janitor,  some  seventy  winters  old,  whose  dress  may  be 
easily  described,  as  it  consisted  of  two  pieces  only — a  pair  of  ragged 
breeches  and  a  dirty  shirt.  It  was  the  last  day  of  the  week,  and  his 
chin  displayed  the  entire  hebdomadal  crop  of  hair,  as  gray  and 
grizzly  as  a  badger's.  He  stood,  with  his  legs  astride  and  his  arms 
akimbo,  smoking  his  pipe.  We  drew  up  before  the  door,  or  rather 
before  the  port-hole,  of  this  miserable  apology  for  a  public  house. 
"  How  far  is  it,"  I  inquired,  "to  the  next  tavern?"  "  Thirteen 
miles,"  replied  this  interesting  Caliban,  replacing  his  pipe  as  soon 
as  he  had  spoken.  "  Thirteen  miles  !"  I  exclaimed  with  astonish 
ment. —  "  Yes,  thirteen  miles  and  a  quarter,  to  a  link,"  he  replied  ; 
"  I  chained  it  myself,  twenty  years  ago,  and  I  guess  it  haant  got  no 
shorter." — "Thomas,"  said  I,  "what  shall  we  do?"  —  "A  mar- 
ciful  mon,  your  honor,  is  marciful  to  his  baast,"  said  he  ;  "  and  it 's 
myself  that 's  been  thinking,  that  a  couple  o'  packs  of  oots  pit 
anunder  the  skins  o'  they  poor  crathurs  here  would  be  a  great 
saving  o'  the  lash,  your  honor."  —  "  Will  you  call  the  landlord?" 
said  I  to  the  man  who  had  answered  my  first  inquiries.  "  I  s'pose 
I  'm  the  landlord,"  he  replied.  "  Well,  sir,"  I  rejoined,  "  can  you 
let  my  horses  have  a  couple  of  pecks  of  oats?" — "  Yes,  s'pose  I 
can,"  he  replied.  —  "And  can  you  give  us  a  shelter  from  the 
storm?"  I  inquired.  —  "Yes,  s'pose  I  can,"  was  the  response. 
Nothing  could  be  more  ur  propitious,  and  even  surly,  than  the  man 
ner  of  mine  host,  who  appeared,  in  word  and  action,  rough  as  an 
artichoke  and  vu  gar  as  dirt.  I  ushered  my  family  into  the  first 
apartment,  which  appeared,  as  there  were  two  or  three  kegs  upon 
tap,  to  be  the  drawing-room,  and  the  stronghold,  as  we  inferred 
from  the  effluvia,  of  rum  and  tobacco.  From  this  apartment  we 
were  speedily  driven,  by  the  arrival  of  other  travellers,  who  had 
been  compelled,  like  ourselves,  to  seek  any  port  in  a  storm.  We 
now  retreated  to  an  inner  room,  less  capacious,  but  evidently  of 
higher  pretensions,  in  which,  notwithstanding  the  rain  was,  here 
and  there,  admitted  through  the  walls,  we  were  somewhat  more 
comfortable  than  before.  A  crockery  parrot,  without  a  head, 

VOL.    II.  16* 


1ST*  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

nloined  the  mantel,  and  two  peacock-feathers  su.  mounted  a  broken 
looking-glass. 

The  increasing  clamor  in  the  adjoining  room  soon  advised  us  of 
ihe  arrival  of  additional  company.  Prompted  by  curiosity,  I  left  my 
family  in  the  boudoir,  and  returned  to  the  drawing-room.  There  were 
nearly  twenty  persons  assembled,  the  majority  of  whom  \i  ere  driven 
together  by  the  storm.  The  innholder's  good  humor  appeared  to  be 
completely  restored.  He  seemed  the  very  lord  of  misrule.  As  I 
entered,  the  rude  and  boisterous  laughter,  which  literally  shook 
the  apartment,  partially  subsided.  The  sudden  introduction  of  a 
stranger  produced  some  slight  effect  upon  the  assembly.  I  ap 
proached  the  window,  and  looked  out  upon  the  storm,  and  the  con 
versation  which  my  presence  had  interrupted,  was  speedily  renewed. 
I  endeavored,  without  attracting  particular  observation,  to  recon 
noitre  the  group  around  me.  Two  sturdy  mountaineers  were 
seated  upon  a  bed  with  two  of  the  gentler  sex  beside  them,  appar 
ently  their  wives,  smoking  their  pipes.  Nature's  coarsest  mould 
could  not  have  elaborated  four  less  attractive  specimens  of  her  handi 
work.  A  man  of  short  stature  and  middle  age  occupied  a  three- 
legged  stool  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  His  legs  were  dressed  in 
leather  galligaskins,  his  coat  was  of  greasy  fustian,  not  precisely  of 
that  description  denominated  thunder  and  lightning,  in  which  Moses 
Primrose  was  arrayed  for  the  fair  —  this,  when  new,  had  approached 
more  closely  to  fire  and  brimstone.  The  cut  of  it  was  somewhat 
peculiar,  being  such,  as,  in  the  nomenclature  of  a  lady's  wardrobe, 
is  called  a  long-short.  He  wore  a  hat  with  a  prodigious  circumfer 
ence  of  brim,  so  peculiarly  slouched  on  one  side  as  to  enable  the 
wearer,  by  twirling  it  the  quarter  of  a  circle,  to  hide  as  much  of  his 
face  as  he  might  be  unwilling  to  expose.  He  wore  an  enormous 
pair  of  green  goggles,  with  lateral  eye-glasses ;  and,  in  addition  to 
these,  a  pair  of  ordinary  spectacles  upon  his  forehead,  to  be  used  as 
occasion  might  require.  Upon  his  right  and  left  hand  were  a  cou 
ple  of  strong  wooden  cases,  furnished  with  leather  shoulder-straps. 
From  all  these  circumstances,  I  conjectured  that  he  was  one  of 
those  locomotive  merchants,  styled  hawkers,  or  pedlers.  In  one  cor 
ner  of  the  apartment  was  a  grave  personage,  some  fifty  years  of 
age,  decently  dressed  in  dark  apparel,  and  who  appeared  desirous 
of  shrinking  as  completely  as  possible  from  the  scene  around  him. 
He  sat  twirling  his  thumbs,  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  his  head 
reclined  backward  against  the  wall.  My  attention  was  particularly 
attracted  by  an  elderly  couple,  who  occupied  a  corner  of  the  entry, 
or  porch,  leading  to  the  room,  in  which  we  were  assembled.  They 
had,  in  their  youth,  as  I  afterwards  ascertained,  taken  each  other 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  187 

for  better  or  worse,  for  richer  or  poorer  ;  and,  if  marriage  be  a  lot 
tery,  it  was  evident  from  a  single  glance,  that  each  of  these  adven 
turers  had  drawn  a  blank.  They  had  been  driven  hither,  like  the 
rest  of  us,  for  shelter  from  the  storm ;  and  appeared  to  occupy  their 
seats  upon  the  entry  floor,  with  a  full  consciousness  of  their  inferi 
ority  in  point  of  caste.  I  could  perceive  no  important  difference, 
however,  in  this  particular,  between  the  miserable  brace  of  wedded 
mendicants  before  me  and  several  of  those,  by  whom  I  was  sur 
rounded,  saving  the  manifest  inability  of  the  former  to  pay  for 
any  more  liquor.  Aristocracy,  an  exotic  nowhere,  will  flourish, 
like  the  cactus,  even  among  the  rocks,  and  with  very  little  irriga 
tion.  It  is  not  easy,  thought  I,  to  find  a  more  remarkable  example 
than  the  one  before  me  of  a  distinction,  where  no  essential  difference 
exists,  unless,  perhaps,  among  the  Pouliats  of  India,  who,  notwith 
standing  the  extreme  degradation  of  their  polluted  caste  has  cut 
them  off  from  all  direct  communication  with  the  rest  of  man 
kind,  compel  the  Pouliches,  a  still  more  degraded  race  of  human 
beings,  to  flee  from  among  them  and  abide  in  trees  and  caverns 
More  wretched  objects  I  have  seldom  seen  than  this  miserable  cou 
pie.  It  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  more  plausible  reason  for  their 
continued  connection  than  that,  which  lies  in  the  ancient  proverb  — 
Misery  loves  company.  They  were  manifestly  the  victims  of  in 
temperance —  the  victims  of  the  liquor-seller.  In  all  probability, 
neither  of  them  had  undergone  a  thorough  ablution  since  the  revolu 
tionary  war.  By  some,  however,  this  may  not  be  accounted  a  very 
particular  mark  of  opprobious  distinction.  Their  natural  skin  was 
as  effectually  concealed  by  dirt,  as  by  the  many-colored  rags  which 
hung  loosely  about  them.  An  old  wallet,  which  the  man  had 
carried  on  his  shoulder,  doubtless  contained  their  whole  estate,  real, 
personal,  and  mixed.  There  were  no  other  persons,  among  this 
motley  group,  of  sufficient  interest  to  attract  my  particular  attention, 
excepting  a  very  corpulent  woman,  evidently  over  fifty  years  of  age, 
who  used  a  crutch,  and  continually  complained  of  the  oppressive 
heat  of  the  apartment. 

The  vulgar  merriment,  which  prevailed,  at  the  moment  of  my 
entrance,  appeared  to  have  been  occasioned,  by  a  succession  of  gibes 
and  jeers,  in  which  several  members  of  this  respectable  assembly 
were  indulging  themselves,  at  the  expense  of  the  pedler.  He  was 
a  shrewd,  intelligent  Irishman  ;  and  had  been,  as  I  gathered  from 
the  observations  of  the  several  speakers,  an  itinerant  trafficker  over 
the  mountains  for  many  years. 

"  What,  in  the  name  o'  natur,  have  ye  got  in  your  trunks  this 
litre  Marphy?  Do  let  a  body  know,"  said  an  enormously  corpu- 


1SS  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

lent  man  in  a  butcher's  frock.  — "  Plase  ye,  Mr.  Slaughter,' 
replied  the  Irish  pedler,  "  na  moor  nor  a  few  thrifles." —  "  Trifles, 
eh,"  cried  one  of  the  two  male  person  acres  who  were  seated  upon 
the  bed  ;  "  a  pack  of  confounded  essences  and  glass  jinkumbobs  for 
the  women's  noses  and  ears,  to  gull  our  wives,  I  rll  bate  a  dollar." 
—  "And  like  as  not,"  exclaimed  a  red-faced  Jezebel,  with  scarlet 
ribands  to  match,  who  sat  by  his  side,  and  whose  voice  wonder 
fully  resembled  the  sound  of  a  steam-whistle  —  "  like  as  not  he  's  got 
essences  for  their  husbands'  throats.  I  would  n't  say  nothing  about 
gulling,  if  I  was  you,  Atherton."  —  "  Haw,  haw,  haw!"  cried  the 
butcher,  slapping  his  thigh,  with  the  flat  of  a  hand  as  big  as  a  leg 
of  mutton  souffle;  "  haw,  haw,  haw!  that  are  's  complete  ;  you  've 
got  it  this  time,  Atherton,  that  are  a  fac."  —  Atherton  and  his 
helpmate  were  silent,  but  looked  unutterable  things  at  each  other. 

"Come,  Marphy,"  said  the  butcher,  "  don't  be  so  tarnal  shy; 
open  your  chists  and  let 's  see  your  wares."  —  "  Plase  your  honor," 
cried  the  pedler,  "  Ise  walked,  or  rin  rather,  for  the  last  foor  miles 
wid  my  pack  on  my  shouthers,  and  it 's  na  to  be  dooted  the  ongra- 
dients  are  pit  in  disarder."  —  "That  are's  all  humbug,"  rejoined 
Slaughter ;  "  you  're  a  marchant ;  what 's  a  possessing  on  ye,  man, 
that  ye  won't  show  your  plunder?"  —  "It's  mysilf,"  replied  the 
pedler,  "  that  wull  be  excused,  if  ye  plase,  sir;  beside,  daar  Mr. 
Slaughter,"  continued  he,  in  an  under  tone,  "there's  times  and 
saasons  for  ivery  kind  o'  a  thing,  as  St.  Patrick  said."  —  "  I  don't 
believe,"  cried  the  butcher,  "  but  what  you  've  got  so'thin  or  other 
what 's  counterband."  — "  Och,  Mr.  Slaughter,"  exclaimed  the  poor 
fellow,  "  it 's  not  the  like  o'  me  that  wull  be  after  doing  that  same. 
It's  maar  thrifles  that 's  in  my  little  bit  chist."  —  "  Your  little  bit 
chist  with  a  vengeance!"  cried  the  butcher;  "  why,  one  o'  these 
here  things,  if  't  was  only  o'  the  right  shape,  would  be  big  enough 
for  an  alderman's  powdering  tub  —  little  bit  chist  d'  ye  call  it?  why, 
I  tell  ye  one  on  'em  's  big  enough  to  hold  half  the  goods  stole  up  in 
our  mountains  for  six  months."  —  The  pedler's  Irish  blood  was  evi 
dently  roused  by  the  imputation  contained  in  this  remark.  —  "  Mr. 
Slaughter,"  said  he,  "ye  '11  jist  be  plased  to  be  a  leetle  moor  o'  a 
jontleman."  —  "Marphy,"  exclaimed  the  butcher,  in  a  voice  half 
choked  with  passion,  at  the  same  time  clinching  his  fist,  and 
assuming  the  attitude  of  a  butcher  militant,  "d'ye  say  I  au't  a 
gentleman?"  — "  My  father's  son  niver  sed  the  like  o'  that,  Mr. 
Slaughter,"  replied  the  pedler ;  "  I  only  requisted  ye,  if  it  was  par- 
fictly  convanient,  to  be  a  leetle  bit  moor  o'  a  jontleman  nor  ye  was." 
— "  Marphy 's  cunniner  than  you  thinks  for,  Slaughter,"  said 
one  of  the  by-standers  ;  "  he  an't  to  be  cotch'd  no  time  o'  day  : 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  1S9 

ion't  ye  see  he 's  got  his  eyes  all  about  him."  —  This  little  pleas 
antry,  alluding  to  the  unusual  number  of  glasses  about  the  podler's 
eyes,  put  the  whole  assembly  into  good  humor,  ihe  belligerents 
excepted. —  "Eyes  all  about,  him!"  said  the  butcher;  "yes,  he 
looks  like  a  beetle  that  sees  best  in  the  night."  —  "  It 's  na  proof  o' 
your  eeveelity,"  replied  the  pedler,  "to  be  comparing  a  paceable 
thrader  to  a  baatle.  Wud  it  be  the  dacent  thing  for  anybuddy  to  be 
after  comparing  yoursilf  to  two  bushels  o'  your  own  sassinger  maat 
crammed  into  a  one-bushel  bag?  You'll  niver  pit  Brian  Marphy 
up  to  the  making  sich  an  ondacent  comparison  as  that  same."  —  Ni 
one  appeared  to  enjoy  this  joke  at  the  butcher's  expense,  so  highly 
as  Atherton.  He  returned  the  butcher's  haw,  haw,  upon  a  former 
occasion,  with  compound  interest. 

Slaughter's  temper  gave  way  before  the  peals  of  laughter  raised 
at  his  expense.  "  There,"  said  he,  administering  a  tremendous 
kick  with  his  cowhide  boot  upon  the  pedler's  little  bit  chist,  as  ho 
was  pleased  to  call  it  —  "there,  I'll  sarve  ye  jist  arter  that  are 
fashin,  if  ye  don't  keep  your  red  rag  between  your  teeth."  A 
crash  within  and  the  immediate  issue  of  some  liquid  from  one  of  the 
pedler's  boxes,  apparently,  from  the  strong  odor,  no  other  than 
Cogniac,  too  manifestly  proved,  that  the  butcher  had  inflicted  a 
mortal  wound.  "  Whoosh  !  saa  what  is  't  ye  've  done,"  cried  the 
pedler.  "  Ye  '11  pay  for  this,  mon.  Is  this  the  right  sort  o'  thrate- 
ment  for  a  poor  felly  what 's  gitting  an  honest  living,  to  ruin  him  this 
a  way  buddy  and  spirit1?"  —  "  Spirit  it  is,  sure  enough,"  cried  the 
butcher,  who  was  half  ashamed  of  his  conduct,  and  quite  willing  to 
shift  the  burden  upon  poor  Murphy's  shoulders  —  "it's  giniwine 
brandy,  as  true  as  you  're  alive  ;  and  this  here  feller  's  been  hawk 
ing  it  about,  for  ever  so  long,  among  the  mountains,  and  selling  on 
it  without  a  mite  of  a  license."  —  "  S'pose'n  he  has,"  said  Ath 
erton,  "  it  don't  foller,  by  three  chalks,  that  everybody  's  a  right 
to  stick  himself  up  for  judge  and  jury."  —  "  What  bisness  is  't  to 
you?"  cried  Slaughter. — "None  in  peticklar,"  replied  Atherton, 
"  only  I  think  you  needn't  up  foot  and  gin  sich  a  jab  agin  the  man's 
chist.  You  need  n't  ha  come  anist  it.  I  was  on  the  jury  last  Octo 
ber  court,  and  there  was  pooty  much  sich  a  case  ;  don't  reckon 
there  was  any  differ  ;  and  Squire  Pronk  said  't  was  clean  trover.  I 
guess  you'll  have  to  settle  it."  —  "Well,  Mr.  Atherton,  may  be 
so,"  said  Slaughter,  putting  his  arms  akimbo  ;  "  and,  if  I  've  got 
to  shell  out,  it'll  be  very  convenient  to  have  you  settle  your  bill  o' 
meat,  that 's  been  due  two  years  come  next  thanksgiving."  Poor 
A  therton  hung  his  head,  and  said  no  more.  One  or  two  of  the  com 
pany  expressed  their  opinions,  that  the  butcher  wa*  too  hard  upon 


190  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

the  pedler.  "  An't  so  clear  as  to  that,"  said  the  landlord,  whwe 
progress  round  the  room  with  a  dirty  black  bottle,  from  which  he  had 
been  serving  the  guests  with  whiskey,  had  been  impeded  for  a  few 
minutes,  by  the  occurrence  which  I  have  related.  "  An't  so  cleai  as 
to  that,"  said  he,  "  by  no  manner  o'  means —  no  great  opinion  of  a 
man  that  sells  liquor  without  a  license.  It  's  no  better  than  smug 
gling,  no.  not  a  bit.  What 's  agoing  to  come  of  our  riglar  bisniss'? 
The  timprance  folks  has  e'enamost  done  for't  a'ready.  Why,  my 
patience  !  I  us'd  to  sell  jist  about  four  times  as  much  as  I  sells  now, 
and  I  raaly  don't  know  what 's  agoing  to  come  on  us,  if  these  here 
folks  is  agoing  to  run  away  with  the  rest  of  the  bisniss  in  sich  an 
underhand  way." 

During  this  interesting  colloquy,  the  pedler  was  occupied  in 
unpacking  and  examining  his  wares  and  merchandise,  removing 
the  fragments  of  a  case-bottle,  and  separating  his  ribands,  laces, 
jewelry,  essences,  and  a  variety  of  other  articles,  too  numerous  for 
an  advertisement.  The  females,  without  a  single  exception,  actu 
ated  either  by  curiosity  or  benevolence,  had  come  to  the  rescue  ;  an;l 
no  one  appeared  more  active  upon  the  prrsent  occasion,  than  the 
corpulent  dame  with  the  crutch,  to  whom  I  have  already  alluded. 
—  "Jist  look  for  yoursilves,  leddies,"  cried  the  pedler,  "jist  look 
wid  your  eyes,  and  saa  the  ill  wark  that  he's  done  for  me."  — 
"  What 's  this  1  it 's  all  of  a  sop,  as  true  as  I  'm  alive,"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  group.  —  "  And  sure  enough  what  is  it,  it  is,  isn't  it  ? 
sowl  o'  me  and  by  the  powers  if  it  is  n't  a  most  valleyble  package 
that  same.  It  contains  moor  nor  a  hunder  dollars'  warth  o"  mar- 
chandise,  coort  plaster,  pooders  for  the  taath,  and  a  daal  o'  the  dili 
kitest  pomaty  in  the  warld,  and  other  chaice  articles  into  the  bargain, 
ivery  one  o'  em  ruinated  and  totally  perditionized  entirely.  Plase 
to  look  to  it  for  yoursilves,  as  ye  '11  all  be  called  to  the  coort  for  your 
tistimony." — "It's  a  burnin  shame,  I  vum,"  said  Atherton's 
wife,  as  her  eye  glanced  upon  a  parcel  of  tawdry,  shop-worn  jew 
elry  ;  "  if  them  are  is  n't  the  beautifullest  pair  o'  bobs  I  ever  sot  eyes 
on,  in  all  my  born  days ;  won't  it  spoil  'em  to  be  soaked  in  this  here 
sperret,  Mr.  Marphy?"  —  "  Purty  considerably  entirely,"  cried  the 
pedler.  "  Daar  me,"  he  continued,  shaking  his  head  and  wringing 
his  hands,  in  the  most  lugubrious  manner  —  "  daar  me,  what '11 
become  o'  m'  silf !  The  most  o'  all  these  articles  is  bought  upon  a 
cridit,  and  it 's  daar  enough  they  cost,  ye  may  depind."  —  "  These 
jailer  ribbins  is  dished  complete,"  said  another  of  the  pedler's  com 
forters,  as  she  drew  forth  a  number  of  rolls  thoroughly  saturated  with 
brandy.  —  "  How  could  you  do  sich  a  thing,  Mr.  Slaughter?  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,"  said  the  portly  woman  with  the 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  191 

crutch  ;  "  only  see  that  are  good  brandy  all  over  the  floor ,  was  it 
rual  foreign,  Mr.  Marphy?" —  "Bliss  your  swaat  soul,  Mrs, 
Mf.(  lohhler,  indaad  an  it  was,  ivery  dhrap  o'  it.  It 's  the  virry  bist 
o'  Cogniac ;  the  same,"  continued  he,  in  a  lower  voice,  "that 
ye  've  had  o'  me  for  mony  yaars.  I  had  it  dirict  fro'  one  of  the 
twalve  respictable  liquor-sellers  o'  the  city  o'  Boston,  that  pit  his 
name  to  the  report  agin  the  shtapping  o'  the  traffic.  It 's  the  laal 
crathur,  watered  discrately  by  nobuddy  but  the  importer,  jist  to  des- 
tray  the  outlandish  twang  that  it  has,  ye  know,  whin  it  first  comes 
ow'er."  —  "  See  there,"  cried  another,  "them  little  books,  at  the 
bottom  o'  the  box,  is  ruined,  an't  they?  What  be  they,  Mr.  Mar 
phy  ?" —  "  Thrue  for  you,  they  are  claan  done  for,"  said  the  ped 
ler  ;  "  they  are  Timperance  Tales,  to  be  sure,  and  they  're  the  only 
things  in  the  whole  colliction,  that  isn't  greatly  the  warse  for  the 
liquor ;  for,  after  a  little  bit  drying,  they  '11  raad  jist  as  they  had 
niver  been  ruined." 

There  certainly  was  no  slight  resemblance  between  this  open 
ing  of  the  little  bit  chist  of  Murphy  the  pedler,  and  the  opening  of 
the  box  of  Pandora.  These  Temperance  Tales  reposed  securely 
at  the  bottom  of  the  pedler 's  box,  like  hope,  under  a  multitude  of 
ills. 

During  this  inquisition  into  the  mutilated  state  of  the  pedler's 
possessions,  the  butcher  had  been  engaged  in  a  private  conference 
with  two  or  three  of  his  associates,  who  had  undoubtedly  advised 
him  to  make  peace  with  his  adversary  as  soon  as  possible.  "  Ye  'd 
better  settle  the  hash  with  him,  Slaughter,"  said  one  of  his  coun 
sellors,  "or  he'll  stick  t' ye  like  a  pitch-plaster,  you  see  if  he 
don't."  —  Under  this  influence,  the  butcher  moved  towards  the 
door,  and,  calling  the  pedler  by  name,  beckoned  him  to  follow.  — 
"  And  pray,  Mr.  Slaughter,"  said  the  wary  Irishman,  in  the  wailing 
accent  of  a  much-injured  man,  "  what 's  your  wush  and  your  wull 
wid  a  poor  buddy  now  ?  Like  as  may  be  not,  since  ye  's  made  me 
a  bankrupt  claan,  ye  '11  be  after  baating  me,  or  the  like  o'  that."  — 
"  I  want  to  have  a  leetle  talk  with  ye,  Marphy,"  said  the  butcher. 
—  "  Talk  wid  me,  it  is  ?  Ye  '11  plase  to  excuse  me,  sir,  for  it 's  not 
jist  the  time  for  conversation,  Mr.  Slaughter,  whin  I  'm  saving  what 
I  can  fro'  the  wrack,  that  ye 've  made  o'  my  marchandise."  — 
"  Well,"  cried  the  butcher,  returning  to  the  apartment,  "ye  may 
take  your  choice,  peace  or  war.  I  've  broke  your  bottle  o'  brandy, 
and  if  ye  've  a  mind  to  settle  and  be  friends,  here  's  a  Pve-dollar 
bill,"  taking  out  and  opening  his  wallet,  as  he  spoke.  —  "  A  five- 
dollar  bill,  it  is?"  cried  Murphy.  "  Och,  mon,  and  here 's  moor 
nor  two  hunder  worth  o'  all  sarts  o'  mischief  and  throuble  to  boot. 


192  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

jo  say  nathing  o'  worry  o'  mind.  It 's  not  a  faHing  liss  nor  foorty 
3'  your  five-dollar  bills  that  '11  make  pace  betrne  us,  Mr.  Slaugh 
ter."  —  "  Well,  well,  very  well,"  cried  the  butcher,  replacing  his 
wallet  in  his  pocket,  "  you  '11  not  get  a  cent  o'  me  arter  this."— « 
"  By  the  powers !  if  I  '11  not  have  ye  up  to  the  coort  for  it,  though," 
exclaimed  the  pedler.  —  "  And  I  '11  have  you  up,  Brian  Marphy,  for 
selling  strong  drink  without  a  license,"  cried  the  butcher.  "  Only 
jest  look  a  here ;  beside  the  bottle  what 's  broke,  he  's  got  five 
large  case-bottles  in  this  here  chist,  and  I  '11  bate  a  dollar,  he  's  got 
half  a  dozen  in  tother,  for  even  ballast."  —  "It's  as  onlike  the 
truth  as  it  can  be,"  replied  Murphy.  —  "Well,"  said  the  butcher, 
"  open  your  chist  then.  I  '11  bate  a  dollar  on  't."  —  "It 's  upon  ye 
all,  jontlemen,"  cried  the  pedler,  "  that  I  call  for  protiction,  or,  sure 
as  life,  the  felly  will  be  after  kicking  at  it,  jist  as  he  did  to  the 
tother,  and  for  sartin  he  '11  smash  another  buttle  —  that  is,  I  maan, 
if  there  was  ony  there,  which  o'  coorse  there  isn't."  —  "Don't 
believe  a  word  on  't,"  cried  the  other ;  "  stump  ye  to  open  it,"  con 
tinued  he,  drawing  nearer  to  the  pedler.  —  "  Sure,  jontlemen," 
said  the  pedler,  "  ye '11  not  see  a  mon  murthered  this  a  way  — 
there,  now,  he's  gitting  up  his  big  butcher's  fut  for  a  kick."  — 
"I  '11  not  kick  your  chist,"  said  the  other,  "but  I'll  have  ye  up, 
as  I  tolt  ye,  for  selling  strong  drink  without  a  license." 

The  grave  gentleman  in  black,  who,  when  I  entered  the  apart 
ment,  was  sitting  with  his  eyes  closed  and  his  head  against  the  wall, 
had  evidently  become  interested  in  the  controversy.  He  had  shifted 
his  position,  and,  for  some  time,  had  watched  the  parties  with  close 
attention.  As  he  sat  with  his  chin  supported  by  his  left  hand,  and 
his  elbow  resting  upon  his  knee,  I  had  myself  become  exceedingly 
interested  in  the  variations  of  his  uncommonly  expressive  counte 
nance,  as  the  grave  or  the  ludicrous  prevailed.  Perceiving  the  close 
attention,  which  he  bestowed  upon  the  matter  in  hand,  and  hoping 
to  enlist  so  respectable  a  personage  in  his  interest,  the  pedler 
appealed  to  his  decision.  "  Plase  your  honor,  sir,"  said  he,  "] 
parsave  that  you  're  a  jontleman,  ivery  inch  above  your  head ;  wull 
ye  be  so  oblaging  as  to  listen  a  bit  ?  He  says  he  '11  have  me  up 
afoor  the  coort  for  silling  shtrong  drink  widout  a  license.  Now,  sir, 
it 's  no  more  of  a  thruth  than  nothing  in  natur.  It  's  not  myself 
that  wull  deny,  that  I  dispose  of  a  leetle  of  the  virry  bist  of  Cogniar 
iaar  among  the  mountains,  where,  your  honor  knows,  it 's  not  s< 
aisy  to  be  had,  but  not  a  dhrap  o'  it  has  Brian  Murphy  iver  soult  a. 
a  drink,  but  iver  as  a  midicme,  and  chafely,  your  honor,  to  the  mim 
bers  o'  the  Timperance  Society.  There  's  Squire  Magoon,  — may 
be  your  honor  knows  him,  —  he  's  a  raal  mon  for  timperance,  —  1 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  195 

joult  him  a  hull  buttle  a  waak  ago.  He 's  an  ailing  mon,  and  it 
halps  him  a  bit,  ye  may  depind."  —  "  I  think,"  said  the  gentleman 
in  black,  "  that  you  said  you  had  some  Temperance  Tales  among 
your  wares."  —  "  Indaad  and  I  did,  your  honor,"  replied  the  ped- 
ler ;  "  the  frinds  o'  timperance  lave  'em  wid  me  to  be  distreebuted, 
and  I  laves  'em  aboot  the  contree.  Iv'ry  one,  that  buys  a  leetle 
Cogniac  as  a  midicine,  takes  one  or  two  o'  the  Tales,  as  a  matter  o? 
coorse,  your  honor."  The  gentleman  in  black  evidently  struggled 
hard  to  suppress  a  smile  at  the  pedler's  statement. — "Ye  won't 
catch  the  old  fox,"  cried  one  of  the  group,  addressing  Slaughter  ; 
"I  told  ye  ye  wouldn't."  —  "Won't  I?"  replied  the  butcher; 
"  ifax,  you  see  if  I  don't  get  him  into  his  burrer,  afore  I  've  done 
with  him.  Marphy,"  continued  he,  "  you  solt  a  quart  o'  brandy  to 
Jerry  Sparhawk  last  Friday,  and  there  isn't  a  bigger  drunkard  this 
side  o'  Littleton  ;  now  deny  that  if  you  can."  —  "  Thrue  for  you, 
sir,  and  I  did  that  same  ;  but  you  're  a  rickning  entirely  widout  your 
host,  for,  the  Monday  presading  the  virry  Friday,  on  which  I  solt 
him  the  Cogniac,  he  refarmed,  he  did,  and  hekim  a  mimber  o'  the 
Timperance  Society,  and  purchased  the  brandy  as  a  midicine 
entirely."  —  "  Well,  Slaughter,"  cried  another,  "  ye  han't  got  the 
old  fox  into  the  burrer  this  time,  nor  ye  an't  like  to,  as  I  see ;  haw, 
haw!"  —  "Look  here,  Marphy,"  cried  the  butcher,  his  counte 
nance  indicating,  that  his  angry  passions  were  getting  the  better  of 
his  understanding  ;  "  are  you  willing  to  swear  that  you  han't  sold 
no  brandy,  within  a  month,  to  nobody,  that  was  n't  a  member  o'  the 
Temp'rance  Society  ;  come,  there's  no  need  o'  lying  about  it."  — 
"  Indaad  an  there  is  not,  sir,"  replied  the  pedler,  "  and  I  '11  be  after 
swearing  to  nothing  o'  the  sart.  It 's  not  mysilf  that  wull  be  after 
doing  the  onjontaal  thing  o'  revaling  the  sacrets  o'  ony  family  ;  but, 
since  ye  priss  a  poor  buddy  so  close  in  a  earner,  I  '11  jist  say  for 
your  own  petickler  haaring,  Mr.  Slaughter,  that  I  solt  your  good 
leddy  a  buttle  o'  the  bist  this  virry  marning,  to  be  used  as  a  midi 
cine  o'  coorse.  I  lift  her  a  Timperance  Tale  or  two  into  the  bar 
gain,  and  urged  her  to  join  the  society."  Several  minutes  elapsed 
before  the  laughter  had  subsided,  occasioned  by  the  pedler's  confes 
sion.  "  The  old  fox  has  got  into  somebody's  burrer  now,  I  guess," 
said  Atherton.  —  "Your  bill  o'  meat  goes  into  Squire  Pronk's 
hands  afore  I  sleep,"  said  the  butcher,  grinning  at  Atherton  :  "  and. 
as  for  you,"  he  continued,  shaking  his  huge  fist  at  the  pedler,  "I 
look  upon  ye  as  a  bit  o'  carrin."  —  "  A  pace  o'  your  own  maat, 
may  be,"  said  the  pedler.  —  "  Repeat  that,  if  you  dare,"  cried  the 
butcher,  advancing  one  step  towards  him. — "It's  not  warth 
repating,"  said  the  other  ;  "  but  ye  'd  bitter  be  aisy  whin  ye  're  in 
vol.  ri.  17 


194  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

a  hull  skin  ;  ye  've  thrated  me  like  a  dag ;  ye  've  spoilt  my  wares, 
and  for  that  ye  '11  have  to  answer  the  law  ;  but  if  ye  only  lay  the 
weight  o'  your  finger  upon  me,  ye  '11  have  your  gruel  hotter  than 
ye  can  sup  it,  ye  may  depind."  During  these  last  words,  Brian 
Murphy  had  sprung  to  his  feet ;  with  his  left  hand  he  had  thrown 
his  hat,  spectacles,  and  goggles  upon  the  floor ;  and,  thrusting  his 
right  into  his  bosom,  exclaimed,  "  I  'm  riddy  for  ye,  mon."  —  The 
butcher  readily  conjectured,  that,  whatever  the  pedler  might  have 
within  his  grasp,  it  was  neither  essence  nor  pomaty.  He  therefore 
contented  himself  with  shaking  his  fist  at  a  convenient  distance,  and 
muttering  vengeance  between  his  toeth.  By  this  time,  the  females 
had  become  exceedingly  alarmed,  and,  as  the  affray  had  begun  to 
assume  a  very  serious  aspect,  we  were  all  considerably  relieved  from 
our  doubts  and  fears  of  the  result,  when  the  landlord,  with  the  assis 
tance  of  two  or  three  of  his  guests,  prevailed  upon  the  butcher  to 
depart.  The  pedler  retained  his  posture  of  defence,  until  the  rum 
bling  of  the  wagon  wheels,  as  it  rolled  furiously  from  the  door, 
assured  him  that  his  adversary  had  quitted  the  field.  He  then 
replaced  his  spectacles  and  goggles,  and  resumed  the  task  of  exam 
ination  into  the  condition  of  his  merchandise. 

"  Well,"  said  the  landlord,  as  he  returned  to  the  apartment, 
"  Slaughter 's  a  leetle  mite  corned  ;  and,  when  he  's  so,  he  's  apt  to 
get  crusty."  This  worthy  host  now  renewed  his  invitation  to  his 
guests  to  take  "a  leetle  so'thing,"  though,  from  some  cause,  he 
appeared  rather  unwilling  to  extend  his  civility  either  to  the  gentle 
man  in  black  .or  to  myself.  At  length,  encouraged  by  the  constitu 
tional  rouge  of  my  complexion,  and  after  carefully  reconnoitring 
my  countenance  on  both  sides,  he  drew  near  me,  and  with  a  show 
of  civility,  singularly  contrasted  with  his  manner  upon  our  first 
arrival,  "  Don't  ye  drink-  a  leetle  so'thing  sometimes?"  he  inquired. 
—  "  Yes,  I  do,"  replied  I,  with  a  smile.  —  "I  thought  so,"  said 
he ;  and  he  immediately  depressed  the  nose  of  his  black  bottle,  with 
the  intention  of  pouring  out  for  me  a  dram,  into  a  dirty,  broken  tum 
bler,  which  had  evidently  seen  hard  service  in  its  day.  —  "  Stop,  my 
friend,"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  I  never  drink  anything  of  the  kind,  which 
you  have  in  that  bottle."  —  "  It 's  good  whiskey,"  said  this  impor 
tunate  landlord  ;  "  had  n't  ye  better  try  a  leetle?"  — "  No,  I  thank 
you  ;  I  never  drink  whiskey." —  "  Sorry  we  've  got  nothing  better," 
continued  he  ;  "  had  some  Jimaky  week  afore  last,  but  the  Judge 
o'  Probit  was  along  this  way,  and  he  drinkt  the  last  drop  on  it.  My 
gracious !  what  am  I  a  talkin  on  ?  Why,  here  's  the  marchant  's 
got  lots  o'  brandy,  and  I  don't  doubt  he  'd  oblige  a  trav'ler  with  a 
anap  on  't.  This  ere  gentleman  don't  drink  no  whiskey,"  said  he, 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  195 

addressing  the  ped/er  ;  "  can't  you  let  him  have  a  leetle,  jest  a  leetle 
o'  your  brandy,  Mr.  Marphy?" —  "Only  as  a  midicine,  sir,  it  is, 
that  I  sills  it,"  replied  the  pedler,  "as  I  toult  ye.  and  niver  as  a 
drink  or  bivrige.  The  most  naturalist  thing  \n  the  hull  warld  it  is, 
that  the  jontleman  should  be  smited  claan  through  his  buddy  by  the 
dampness  o'  sich  absard  wither  as  'tis  the  dee  ;  so,  an  he  naads  a 
leetle  o'  the  Cogniac  jist  as  a  midicine,  ye  saa,  —  and  ye  're  looking 
quite  pale  and  streaked  ontirely,  sir,  —  why,  thin  it's  not  mysilf, 
that  would  be  so  inhumanish  as  to  refuse  so  very  rasonable  a  re- 
quist."  Without  waiting  for  any  confirmation  from  me,  the  pedler 
was  already  in  the  act  of  drawing  the  cork  from  one  of  his  bottles. 
During  this  part  of  the  conversation,  the  gentleman  in  black  mani 
fested  a  very  considerable  degree  of  anxiety  for  the  result.  I  had 
no  doubt,  from  the  expression  of  his  countenance  at  the  moment, 
that  he  had  been  gratified  by  my  refusal  of  the  landlord's  proffered 
whiskey.  —  "  Do  not  remove  the  cork  of  your  bottle  for  me,  friend," 
said  I.  —  "I  shall  have  no  shcruples  in  the  laast,  sir."  cried  the 
pedler,  "an  ye  take  a  leetle  as  a  midicine."  —  "I  am  perfectly 
well,"  I  replied,  "  and  am  not  sensible  that  1  require  any  kind  of 
medicine."  —  "You're  not  saming  wall,  sir,  indaad  and  you're 
not,"  said  he.  "  Afore  I  kim  ower  to  the  new  contree,  I  tinded,  a 
shpell,  in  a  pharmocopoly  shop,  in  Waterford ;  an  ixtinsive  consarn 
it  was,  kipt  by  Phelim  McClyster  and  Son,  at  the  sign  of  the  goold 
galliput.  A  great  thing  for  me  it  was,  and  a  blissing  it 's  been  to 
mony  moor,  for  there  it  was  that  I  collicted  a  sight  o'  laming, 
touching  the  haaling  art  and  all  sarts  o'  nastrums  and  cattypl  asters, 
and  the  like  o'  them  are.  Why,  sir,  an  it  was  not  for  the  vanity  o' 
boosting  aboot  one's  oon  silf,  —  and  it 's  Brian  Marphy  that  despises 
that  from  the  virry  pit  o'  his  sowl,  —  I  'd  till  ye  a  leetle  o'  the  suc- 
ciss,  that  Tse  had  in  my  practice  in  the  new  contree.  Aven  afoor 
I  lift  Waterford,  McClyster  and  Son  has  sint  me  afFmoor  times  than 
ye  knows  o',  to  administer  a  conjiction,  upon  my  oon  responsi- 
beelity."  —  "  Indeed  !"  said  I,  with  an  air  of  surprise.  —  "  Indaad, 
sir,  and  it  is,"  replied  the  pedler;  "  it's  jist  as  I  till  ye,  ye  may 
depind ;  and  it 's  mysilf  that  wushes  Phelim  McClyster  and  Son  was 
haar  to  confarm  it.  And  now,  sir.  it 's  jist  of  yoursilf  I  '11  be  after 
shpaking  a  ward,  an  pla.se  ye.  I  'd  know  from  your  apparance,  that 
you  was  a  jontleman  of  great  laming  in  a'most  all  mathers  —  I 
consade  ye  that;  but  *he  haaling  art,  as  I've  aften  htw'd  Mr. 
McClyster  obsarve,  the  oold  jontlemon  I  maan — the  hanln:^  art  is 
a  guissing  art,  to  be  sure,  and  the  colder  a  mon  grows,  the  bitter  he 
guisses,  o'  coorse.  It 's  daap  enough  into  the  mathor  Fse  looked, 
ye  may  wall  say  that.  The  hull  thing 's  divided  into  ramadiaJ  and 


196  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

pravantive.  A  leetle  midicine,  tookt  afoor,  is  the  pravantive,  ye 
saa,  agin  the  disarder  whin  it  comes,  fro'  coming  at  all.  1  'd  be 
after  thinking,  fro*  your  looks,  sir  —  and  they  're  maaly  enough,  to 
be  sure — that  'twould  be  the  virry  hoith  o'  imprudence  to  oncoun- 
ter  the  dart  and  drizzle  o'  sich  a'  dee,  widout  pravantive  midicine,  to 
kaap  aff  the  coult  and  wit  o'  the  utmostphaar." —  "And  what 
medicine  would  you  prescribe  for  me?"  I  inquired.  — "  A  leetle 
Cogniac,  sir,  to  be  sure,"  he  replied,  "  taken  only  as  a  midicine,  o' 
coorse,  not  as  a  bivrige,  to  be  sure."  —  "  I  never  felt  better  in  my 
life,"  said  I ;  "  beside,  I  never  take  brandy."  —  "  Ye  never  d:>?" 
said  the  landlord  ;  "ye  baan't  a  temperance  man,  be  ye?"  —  "  No, 
sir,"  I  replied.  — "  Glad  on  it,"  said  he;  "thought  ye  was  too 
sensible  a  man  to  be  sich  a  tarnal  fool  as  all  that."  —  "  May  be  the 
gentleman  will  take  some  beer,"  said  a  miserable  creature,  whom  I 
supposed  to  be  the  landlord's  wife.  —  "  No,  I  thank  you,"  said  I ; 
"I  never  drink  beer."  —  "Why,  you  said  you  wasn't  a  temper 
ance  man,"  cried  the  landlord;  "what  be  ye,  and  what,  in  the 
name  o'  natur,  do  ye  drink?"  —  "I  drink  the  beverage  of  God's 
appointment,"  I  replied  ;  "  and,  having  long  since  become  perfectly 
satisfied  of  the  insufficiency  of  temperance,  I  became  a  total  absti 
nence  man,  and  such  I  still  am." — "  So  am  I,"  said  the  gentleman 
in  black,  rising  from  his  seat,  and  shaking  me  by  the  hand.  — 
"  Divil  ye  be  !"  exclaimed  the  landlord  ;  "  drink  nothin  but  water  ; 
if  that  an't  enough  to  set  a  horse  a'  larfin."  —  "  Yes,  my  friend," 
said  I,  "  I  am  a  total  abstinence  man,  and  drink  nothing  that  can 
intoxicate."  —  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  know  what 's  good  for  my  old 
timbers  ;  I  can't  get  along  without  it.  Sperret  has  helped  me 
dreadfully,  for  forty  years."  —  "  You  also  take  it  as  a  medicine,  I 
perceive,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black.  —  "Sartin,"  said  he; 
"  don't  ye  know  how  the  Bible  commanded  Peter  to  take  a  little  — 
brandy  —  s'p'ose  't  was  brandy  —  for  his  stomach  ache  and  all  his 
infarmities?"  —  "  Brandy  was  unknown  in  Bible  times,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  black.  —  "  That 's  all  you  knows  about  it,"  said  the 
landlord.  —  "  Certainly,"  observed  the  other,  "  that  is  all  I  know 
about  it ;  besides,  the  person  to  whom  you  refer,  was  net  Peter,  but 
Timothy."  — "Well,  well,  I  don't  care  which  on  'em  'twas; 
twas  one  on  'em,  and  that  are's  enough."  —  "If  ycu  quote  an 
example,  in  justification  of  any  part  of  your  conduct,"  said  the  gen 
tleman  in  black,  "it  is  your  duty  to  prove  that  it  is  applicable  to 
your  own  particular  case.  Timothy  was  a  sick  man,  and  a  very 
abstemious  one,  and  it  was  needful  that  some  person,  whose  opinion 
he  highly  respected,  should  press  upon  his  consideration  the  neces- 
mt*y  of  taking,  nbt  brandy,  as  you  suppose,  nor  whiskey,  which 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  197 

Appears  to  be  a  favorite  beverage  of  yours,  but  a  little  wine.  Now, 
wnen  I  passed  your  house,  about  a  week  since,  I  heard  you  boast 
ing  of  your  great  strength,  and  vaunting  that  you  were  a  match  for 
any  man  in  the  mountains.  Surely,  there  is  no  resemblance  between 
the  condition  of  Timothy  and  your  own.  I  really  think,  my  friend," 
continued  he,  with  an  expression  of  amiable  pleasantry,  "that  you 
would  do  well,  if  you  will  take  it  as  a  medicine,  to  wait,  like  Timo 
thy,  until  you  have  an  inspired  apostle  at  your  elbow  to  prescribe 
it."  —  "  Well,  well,  that  are  's  purty  fair  for  talk,  but  it  won't  dc, 
for  me.  Ye  see,  I  'm  an  old  man,  and  I  've  had  the  rheumatiz  nigh 
upon  forty  years."  —  "Just  about  the  time  that  you  have  been  in 
the  habit  of  taking  spirit,"  remarked  the  other  with  a  smile.  —  "  If 
I  did  n't  take  a  leetle  every  day,  jist  to  keep  up  sarclation,  my  blood 
would  get  jock  full  o'  rheumatiz  as  ever,  you  see."  —  "  And  pray, 
how  old  are  you?"  I  inquired.  —  "I  shall  be  seventy-two  years  old 
come  the  twenty-second  day  of  next  September,"  he  replied. — 
'  You  are  quite  a  young  man,"  I  rejoined,  "  to  talk  in  this  extraor 
dinary  manner.  A  few  weeks  since,  I  called  upon  a  man,  much 
older  than  yourself,  whose  name  was  Pew,  residing  in  Manchester, 
on  the  borders  of  Gloucester,  in  the  state  of  Massachusetts.  He 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  using  spirit  for  nearly  eighty  years,  and 
during  maxiy  years  he  had  suffered  severely  from  the  rheumatism. 
Tt  is  five  years  since  he  left  it  off  entirely,  and  he  has  been  altogether 
free  from  the  rheumatism  during  this  period."  "  How  old  was  he," 
inquired  the  landlord,  "  when  he  left  it  off?"  —  "  About  one  hun 
dred  and  one.  This  man  was  a  common  soldier,  at  Braddock's 
defeat,  and  has  attained  the  age  of  one  hundred  and  six." 

"Well,  arter  all,"  said  the  landlord,  "temp 'ranee  is  a  good 
thing  ;  there  's  no  denying  on  't.  I  'm  an  ardent  frind  o'  temp'rance 
myself,  and  always  have  been.  I  don't  have  nobody  a  drinking 
here  arter  he  's  drunk.  I  've  turned  "em  out,  many  's  the  time,  as 
drunk  as  ever  you  see.  I  '11  have  no  such  cattle  here,  I  tell  ye.  I 
heer'd  your  driver  say  you  kim  from  the  Bay  state."  —  "  Yes.  sir," 
I  replied,  "I  came  from  Massachusetts."  —  "Well,  now,"  con 
tinued  he,  "  look  a  here  ;  Ise  had  as  much  experence  in  this  matter 
as  most  folks,  I  guess,  and  I  '11  tell  ye  what  it  is ;  you  're  a  ruinin 
the  cause,  by  trying  to  drive  folks.  What 's  the  use  o'  taking  away 
the  people's  liberties  ?  what 's  the  need  o'  compelling  folks,  by  law, 
to  leave  off  drinking?  that 's  what  I  wants  to  know.  You  ought  to 
use  gentle  suasion  ;  that 's  the  thing.  You  can't  tell  how  afeay'd  I 
be  that  you  '11  hurt  the  cause  ;  for,  as  I  tolt  ye  afore,  I  'm  an  ardent 
frind  o'  temp'rance,  I  am  raaly." 

The  gentleman  in  black  could  restrain  himself  no  longer,  and 

VOL.  n.  17* 


198  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

laughed  abud.  "I  don't  know  what  you're  a  larfin  at,  Mistei," 
said  the  landlord  ;  "  but  I  do  say,  there  's  nothin  in  all  natur  makes 
me  feel  more  raal  miserable  than  to  see  a  drunkard."  —  "  You  must 
have  had  abundant  occasion  for  feeLng  miserably,  I  fear,"  said  the 
gentleman  in  black.  "  Pray,  sir,"  continued  he,  "  will  you  be  so 
good  as  to  inform  me,  in  what  length  of  time  you  would  probably 
be  induced  to  abandon  the  traffic,  by  the  employment  of  moial 
suasion  ?  for,  if  there  is  even  a  remote  prospect  of  turning  one  indi 
vidual  from  this  traffic  in  the  means  of  misery,  —  and  such,  assur 
edly,  it  is,  —  I  am  willing  to  labor  in  the  cause  of  God  and  man/' 

—  "Why,   that's  neither  here   nor  there,"    said    the    landlord 
"Folks  isn't  a  going  to  shut  their  mouths,  cause  some  will  get 
drunk.     You  may  go  and  talk  to  the  drunkards,  and  persuade  them 
to  leave  off;  that 's  the  right  way."  —  "  My  friend,"  said  the  gen 
tleman  in  black,  "  I  will  give  you  my  views  of  this  matter,  in  a  few 
words.     The  drunkenness  of  our  country,  even  at  the  present  day. 
is  a  terrible  evil,  occasioning,  as  it  notoriously  does,  a  prodigious 
amount  of  poverty  and  crime,  disease  and  untimely  death.     Intoxi 
cating  liquors  are  the  cause  of  all  this  evil  and  of  all  these  deplorable 
results.     An  intelligent,  moral  people  ought  not  to  tolerate  the  con 
tinued  existence  and  operation  of  any  cause,  productive  of  evil,  if 
they  possess  the  power  to  remove  that  cause,  unless  it  be  also  pro 
ductive  of  some  greater  good.     Now,  it  has  been  demonstrated,  in 
ten  thousand  ways,  that  intoxicating  liquor,  as  a  beverage,  is  pro 
ductive  of  no  possible  good;  but,  on  the  contrary,  it — "  —  "  Plase 
your  honor,"  cried  the  pedler,  "  I  grant  ye  that,  wid  a  fraa  wull,  as 
a  bivrige  it 's  as  ye  say  ;  but  so  sinsible  a  mon  as  yoursilf.  wull  not 
shpake  o'  it  that  a  way,  as-  a  midicine."  — "  Many  of  our  most 
respectable  physicians,"  said  the  other,  "  are  decidedly  of  opinion, 
that  there  is  no  case,  in  which  a  substitute  may  not  be  employed  for 
intoxicating  liquor,  productive  of  all  its  good  and  none  of  its  evil 
consequences."  —  "  Ise  niver  heer'd  the  like  o'  that,  in  all  my  barn 
dees,"  cried  the  pedler.      "What  in  the  warld  wud  oold  Mr. 
McClyster,  o'  the  goold  galliput,  be  after  saying  to  sich  a  sintimint 
as  that?     Why,  sir,  Ise  heer'd  him  say,  moor  nor  a  hunder  times, 
that  in  collery  fantum, — and  it 's  a  swaaping  disarder,  that  same, 

—  he  could  niver  git  along  widout  the  virry  bist  of  Cogniac,  and  a 
plinty."  —  "Well,  well,  my  friend,"  said.,  the  gentleman  in  black, 
"  suffer  me  to  proceed  with  my  remarks  upon  another  point,  if  you 
please ;  and,  whkn  I  have  done,  I  will  cheerfully  listen  to  all  you 
nave  to  say  of  alcoholic  liquor,  as  a  medicine.     Now,  if  intoxicating 
liquor  be  the  cause  of  infinite  mischief  and  misery,  and  of  no  powi- 
ble  good,  as  a  beverage,  why  should  the  sale  of  it  be  permitted  t<* 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  199 

any  person,  in  any  quantity?"  —  "  Well,  well,"  said  the  landlord, 
"  that  are  's  the  point  I  was  a  wantin  to  fetch  ye  to  ;  now  como 
short  upon  that.  If  ye  '11  get  up  a  law  to  put  an  eend  to  the  hull  on 
it,  that  are  '11  ba  fair  ;  but  they  've  got  a  law  down  in  the  Bay  state 
that 's  well  enough  for  rich  folks,  but  right  agin  the  poor.  A  rich 
man  '11  go  and  buy  his  fifteen  gallons,  but  a  poor  feller  can't  do  no 
sich  thing.  That  are 's  what  I  call  grinding  the  poor. "  —  "If  there 
be  any  grinding,"  replied  the  other,  "  it  will  surely  be  among  those, 
who  hare  the  greatest  facilities  for  getting  at  the  means  of  drunken 
ness.  Some  of  these,  I  admit,  had  better  be  ground  between  the 
upper  and  the  nether  mill-stone,  than  become  the  victims  of  some 
cold,  calculating  liquor-seller.." — "I  reckon,"  said  the  landlord, 
thrusting  his  head  out  of  the  window,  "  it  '11  hold  up  afore  long." 
—  -  "  My  friend,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  I  do  not  feel,  my 
self,  at  all  like  holding  up.  You  have  opened  the  subject  for  dis 
cussion.  I  will  listen  to  anything,  which  you  may  have  to  say, 
with  patient  attention.  I  shall  be  much  gratified  if  you  will  listen 
as  patiently  to  me.  Besides,  here  are  between  twenty  and  thirty 
of  us  confined  to  the  same  apartment,  for  a  season,  by  the  storm  ; 
and,  with  the  exception  of  the  gentleman,  who  has  told  you  he  is  a 
total  abstinence  man,  the  couple  who  are  sitting  in  the  porch,  and 
myself,  there  is  not  a  man  nor  a  woman  of  us  all,  who  is  not  a 
drinker  of  intoxicating  liquor.  I  have  had  the  testimony  of  my  own 
eyes  to  that  effect,  within  the  last  hour  that  we  have  occupied  this 
apartment."  —  "I  niver  takes  it  mysilf,  sir,  you  '11  plase  to  remim- 
ber,"  said  the  pedler,  "  only  as  a  midicine,  sir."  —  "  We  '11  talk  of 
that  presently,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black. 

It  was  exceedingly  amufdng  to  contemplate  the  countenances  of 
the  different  members  of  this  assembly.  Upon  one,  might  be  seen 
an  expression  of  affected  indifference  ;  upon  another,  of  resolute 
defiance.  While  Atherton  assumed  an  air  of  insolent  ridicule,  his 
wife  pretended  to  make  her  toilet  before  a  fragment  of  one  of  the 
pedler's  broken  looking-glasses.  Two  or  three  of  the  party,  who 
were  smoking  their  pipes,  sucked  in  and  puffed  out  the  diity  vapor 
with  unnecessary  vehemence.  The  landlord  seized  a  pine  shingle, 
lying  on  the  floor,  and,  taking  out  his  jackknife,  began  to  whittle  ; 
while  the  corpulent  woman,  with  the  crutch,  inquired  if  the  wind 
was  not  getting  southerly.  The  general  expression  was  one  of  Ul- 
nature  and  resentment.  The  whole  manner  of  the  gentleman,  \vho 
claimed  a  right  to  be  heard,  was  indicative  of  imperturbable  culm- 
riess  ;  and,  from  the  observations,  which  he  had  already  made,  I 
was  satisfied,  that  he  had  a  good  understanding  of  the  matter  in 
hand,  and  was  not  likely  to  flinch  from  the  performance  of  hia 


20C  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

task.  I  apprehended  nothing  so  much,  as  that  he  might  expel  some 
of  his  auditors  from  the  apartment,  by  his  great  plainness  of  speech 
Yet,  as  there  was  apparently  no  other  place  of  refuge  than  the  open 
air,  where  the  tempest  appeared  to  rage  with  unabating  fury,  I  con 
cluded,  upon  the  whole,  that  our  friend  might  count  upon  his  audi 
tory,  though  not  upon  willing  ears.  I  must  not  forget  to  state,  that 
he  had  a  very  captivating  expression,  even  when  giving  utterance 
to  things,  which  could  not  be  supposed  to  be  particularly  acceptable 
to  the  assembly.  He  had  all  the  characteristic  suavity  of  certain 
modern  polemics  who  invariably  preface  their  home  thrusts  at  each 
other,  with  all  possible  tenderness  of  expression,  and  an  abundance 
of  apostolical  appellatives. 

"  Now,  my  good  friends,"  resumed  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  for, 
though  we  are  strangers,  I  entertain  no  other  sentiment  towards  you 
all  than  that  of  Christian  friendship  —  can  any  of  you  doubt,  that 
the  traffic  in  the  means  of  drunkenness  is  a  terrible  evil  1  There  are 
some  persons,  who  seem  to  have  the  power  of  drinking,  even  freely, 
for  years,  with  comparative  impunity,  while  thousands  are  annually 
falling  victims  of  intemperance  around  them.  Snch  is,  ever  has 
been,  and  ever  will  be  the  condition  of  things,  in  a  greater  or  less 
degree,  while  the  means  of  drunkenness  continue  upon  the  earth. 
Who  will  be  drunkards,  and  who  will  escape,  it  is  utterly  impossible 
to  tell,  until  the  fatal  experiment  be  made.  Under  whose  roof-tree 
the  curse  —  which,  as  we  are  told,  stingeth  at  last  like  an  adder  — 
will  next  abide,  no  mortal  can  predict.  The  father,  who  has  scoffed 
at  the  temperance  reform,  may  be  compelled  to  regret  the  folly  of  his 
conduct,  while  committing  the  remains  of  his  drunken  offspring  to 
the  grave.  He,  who,  by  vending  this  accursed  poison,  has  devoted 
himself,  for  years,  to  the  task  of  preparing  pits  for  other  men,  may 
become  himself  the  victim  at  last:  so  —  and  it  is  no  uncommon 
occurrence  —  may  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  or  the  children  of  his 
loins."  —  "  If  you  mean  that  are  last  to  worry  me,"  cried  the  land 
lord's  wife,  "  you  don't  worry  me  a  mite.  I  don't  calk'late  to  take 
no  more  than  what 's  good  for  me."  —  "  Indeed,  my  good  woman," 
said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  I  meant  nothing  persona]  to  any  one. 
No  human  ingenuity  has  ever  devised  any  method,  whereby  intoxi 
cating  liquors  may  be  sold  only  to  temperate  individuals.  If  the 
traffic  in  the  means  of  drunkenness  had  not  been,  at  all  times, 
accounted  a  dangerous  traffic,  for  the  consumer,  it  would  not  have 
been,  as  it  pver  has,  a  subject  of  anxious  and  continual  legislation. 
The  sale  of  intoxicating  liquor  has  been  granted  to  a  few  only.  The 
law  carefully  provides,  that  no  persons  shall  be  licensed  but  men  of 
•ober  lives  and  conversations.  Yet,  very  frequently,  the  vender*  of 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  201 

intoxicating  liquors  are  men  of  iniquitous  lives,  and  abominably 
profane  and  wicked  conversations.  The  law  has  hitherto  required, 
that  no  vender  of  the  means  of  drunkenness  should  permit  any 
person  to  drink  to  excess  upon  his  premises."  —  "That 's  right," 
said  the  landlord ;  "  don't  ye  know  I  tell'd  ye  as  how  I  always 
turned  'em  right  out,  jist  so  soon  as  they  was  drunk.  I  never 
suffers  'em  to  be  a  pestering  round  here,  arter  that."  —  "I  dare  say 
you  do,"  continued  the  other,  "  and  the  only  mode,  in  which  you, 
or  any  other  vender,  can  know,  that  a  man  or  woman  has  drunk  to 
excess,  is  the  very  fact  that  such  person  is  actually  drunken. 
Thus,  according  to  the  good  old  proverb,  when  the  horse  is  s-tolen. 
y:m  very  discreetly  shut  the  stable  door.  This  provision  of  the  law 
is  good  for  nothing.  Men  who  get  their  living  by  selling  liquor, 
are  not  likely  to  stint  their  customers  by  giving  any  other  than  a 
very  liberal  construction  to  the  law.  When  a  man  can  pay  for 
no  more  liquor,  he,  to  be  sure,  is  allowed  by  the  vender  to  have 
drunken  to  excess.  The  law  forbids  the  sale  to  common  drunkards. 
Liquor-sellers,  I  presume,  are  not  bound  to  recognize  any  persons 
as  common  drunkards,  who  have  not  been  duly  posted  and  pro 
claimed  to  be  such,  by  the  selectmen.  Now,  it  very  commonly 
happens,  that  the  selectmen  of  towns  are  the  liquor-sellers  them 
selves  ;  and  they  are  very  naturally  reluctant  to  set  the  brand  of 
infamy  upon  individuals,  whom  they  have  relieved  of  their  last 
farthing,  in  exchange  for  the  means  of  drunkenness.  As  a  matter 
of  course,  this  provision  of  the  law  becomes  a  dead  letter  ;  and,  even 
if  it  were  enforced,  it  would  be  productive  of  very  little  good.  The 
fear  of  the  gallows  may  sometimes  deter  individuals  from  the  com 
mission  of  murder ;  for,  when  a  man  is  committing  murder,  he 
perfectly  understands  the  nature  of  the  crime  and  the  measure  of 
the  punishment.  But  no  man  can  look  forward  through  a  long 
progressive  series  of  daily  indulgences,  and  prospectively  perceive 
that  he  shall  be  a  common  drunkard." 

"That  reminds  me,  your  honor,"  cried  the  pedler,  "  o'  Tooley 
Carr :  whin  he  was  pit  up  afoor  the  baily,  for  baaing  a  common 
drunkard,  he  was  ax'd  what  was  't  he  'd  be  after  saying  for  his  silf- 
defince  ;  and  says  he,  '  It 's  not  so,  your  honor  ;  I  '11  lave  it  to  any- 
buddy  if  Tooley  Carr 's  not  the  uncmnmonest  drunkard  in  all 
Waterford ;  an  ye  '11  sho\v  me  the  mon  that  '11  sit  down  wid  me,  for 
the  hull  dee,  and  I  '11  ria  bate  him  by  thr.ia  pints  o'  the  dew,  your 
honor  may  pay  for  the  liquor.'"  —  "Well,  my  friend,"  resumed 
the  gentleman  in  black,  "  with  your  permission,  I  will  proceed. 
The  law  has  expressly  provided,  that  intoxicating  liquor  shall  not 
be  sold  to  servants,  apprentices,  and  minors  :  yei  the  records  of  our 


AS  A  MEDICINE. 

courts  incontestably  prove,  that  a  very  large  proportion  of  offenders 
belong  to  these  three  classes  of  persons.  Now,  in  every  view  of 
this  highly-interesting  subject,  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  the  con 
viction,  that  all  past  legislation  regarding  it,  has  been  founded  in 
error.  It  has  done  little  or  nothing  to  diminish  the  amount  of 
drunkenness  in  this  or  any  other  country."  —  "Indaad,  sir,"  said 
the  pedler,  "  ye  make  it  exsading  plain  to  the  commonest  appre- 
hinsion,  that  it  should  be  confined  entirely  to  the  pharmocopoly 
paaple,  and  sich  trustwarthy  parsons,  as  may  be  dispensed  to  travel 
aboot  the  contree,  as  their  agents."  — "  J  do  not  mean,"  replied 
the  other,  "  to  convey  any  such  opinion.  I  do  not  believe  the  com 
munity  would  gain  much,  by  having  locomotive  instead  of  stationary 
dram-shops,  nor  by  permitting  intoxicating  liquor  to  be  hawked 
about  the  land  by  pedlers."  —  "You've  got  it;  that's  jest  my 
notion,"  said  the  landlord.  —  "  I  'd  no  moor  be  after  laving  sich  a 
thing  wid  a  maar  pidler,  nor  your  honor,"  cried  the  Irishman,  "  but 
wid  a  respictable  thrader,  what  daal'd  upon  honor,  and  soult  the  virry 
hist  only  as  a  midicine,  under  the  patronage,  may  be,  of  the  Timper- 
ance  Society."  —  "No,  no,"  replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  "1 
am  not  in  favor  of  any  such  project.  We  '11  talk  of  that  presently. 
Pray  let  me  go  forward  with  my  argument.  Experience  has  satis 
fied  every  fair,  intelligent  mind,  that  the  sale  of  the  means  of 
drunkenness,  under  every  possible  modification  of  law,  in  all  parts 
of  the  civilized  world,  and  under  every  species  of  government,  is, 
and  ever  must  be,  productive  of  intolerable  evil.  While  a  few  grow 
rich  by  the  traffic,  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  are  growing  poor. 
These  miserable  victims  are  persuaded  to  exchange  not  only  their 
money,  their  homesteads,  their  chattels,  the  very  clothes  upon  their 
backs,  for  a  bewildering  poison ;  but,  for  the  accomplishment  of  this 
unrighteous  bargain,  their  health,  their  respectability,  their  hap 
piness  on  earth,  their  eternal  welfare,  must  all  be  sacrificed."  — 
"  Mister,  if  a  poor  crittur  like  myself  may  be  so  bold  as  to  say  one 
*ord,"  cried  the  forlorn  object,  who  had  been  sitting  on  the  entry 
floor  —  "  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  speak,  all  that  you  *ve  been  saying 
is  as  true  as  the  gospel.  I  'd  tell  you  my  story,  if  you  was  willing 
to  hear  it."  —  "Pshaw,  daddy  Greely,"  exclaimed  the  landlord, 
"  the  gentleman  doesn't  want  you  to  spin  any  o'  your  long  yarns. 
The  old  feller  's  been  sup^ranimated  a  long  spell."  —  "  No,  I  am 
not  superannuated  any  more  than  yourself,  Mr.  Joslyn,"  replied  the 
old  man,  addressing  the  landlord.  —  "  Look  a  here,  Greely,"  cried 
the  landlord,  exhibiting  a  degree  of  irritation  as  he  spoke,  which 
appeared  altogether  unaccountable  —  "look  a  here,  old  feller;  if 
ve  '11  behave  yourself,  ye  may  sit  where  ye  are ;  if  ye  don't,  I  '11  set 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  200 

ye  *  making  tracks,  quick  enough.  It's  gitting  a leetle  eoolish, 
with  this  here  door  open,"  continued  he,  as  he  shut  it  upon  the  old 
outcast  and  hi*  miserable  partner.  —  "  My  good  Mr.  Joslyn,"  said 

thf:  m:r:t!< -rnnn   in  Mark,  with  an   irrr-Hist-bly  :miuhiriL'  ':Xpr«:Hsiori  of 

face,  "with  your  permission,  I  will  have  that  door  open.  You 
see  the  good  lady  with  the  crutch  has  frequently  complained  of  the 
warmth  of  the  apartment."  As  he  said  this,  he  rose  from  his  chair, 
and  opened  the  door  to  its  utmost  limit.  "  I  think,"  continued  he, 
*  after  I  have  made  one  or  two  remarks,  I  should  like  to  hear  that 
old  man's  story,  since  he  appears  willing  to  relate  it.  Perhaps,  as 
we  are  likely  to  be  confined,  for  some  time  longer,  by  the  storm, 
we  can  do  nothing  better."  —  "He's  a  troublesome  old  feller," 
•aid  the  landlord.  —  "You  didn't  always  use  to  think  so,  Mr. 
Joslyn,"  said  the  old  man.  ««  Well,  now,  hear  what  I  say, 
Greely,"  cried  the  landlord ;  "  don't  you  darken  my  doors  agin  ;  if 
't  wan  't  a  raining  pitchforks,  eenamost,  I  'd  turn  ye  out  now,  right 
off;  ye  're  no  better  than  a  bit  o'  carrin,  both  on  ye."  —  "  Ethan," 
said  the  old  woman,  "  had  n't  we  better  go?"  —  "  May  be  we  had," 
said  the  miserable  old  man,  rising,  with  some  effort,  upon  his  feet, 
and  placing  his  ragged  wallet  upon  his  shoulders.  —  "  Git  along, 
then,"  cried  the  landlord  ;  "  good  riddance  to  bad  rabbidge  ;  come, 
make  haste,  clear  out,  clear  out."  As  these  poor  old  castaways 
were  upon  the  very  threshold,  and  just  preparing  to  buffet  the  tem 
pest,  which  was  literally  raging  among  the  mountains,  the  gentleman 
in  black  sprang  suddenly  to  his  feet ;  with  scarcely  more  than  a 
single  stride  he  was  at  the  door ;  and,  extending  his  long,  bony  arm, 
he  arrested  the  old  man's  progress ;  at  the  same  moment,  turning 
upon  Joslyn  an  expression  of  indignant  irony,  which  I  never  can 
forget,  "  Dear,  compassionate  landlord,"  said  he,  "this,  I  believe, 
is  a  public  house,  for  the  entertainment  of  travellers;  is  it  not?"— 
"  Yes,  to  be  sure  it  is,"  he  replied,  "  if  they  can  pay  for  it."  — 
"  These  people,"  continued  the  other,  "  whom  you  are  thrusting 
out  of  doors,  are  evidently  very  old,  and  very  poor,  and,  I  dare  say, 
vf:ry  hungry.  He,  who  giveth  to  the  poor,  lendcth  to  the  Lord. 
PerhapH,  rny  friend,  you  dislike  such  security  ;  —  as  I  do  not,  you 
will  please  to  look  upon  me  as  their  paymaster,  and  I  will  look  upon 
the  Almighty  an  mine.  This  couple  are  my  guests.  Come,  come, 
my  good  woman,"  continued  he,  turning  to  the  tavern-keeper's  wife, 
"  let  us  have  a  specimen  of  your  activity.  Spread  us  a  table,  set 
on  a  couple  of  phitrjs  for  these  poor  people.  Give  us  the  best  your 
house  affimlH,  but  keep  back  the  worst  —  not  a  drop  of  the  drunk 
ard's  drink.  Come,  come,"  said  he,  with  the  tone  of  one,  who 
tf.  l»«;  obeyed,  "down  with  your  sp'der."  —  "Are  ye 'n 


204  AS  A  MEDICINE. " 

ar^nest?"  said  the  landlord.  — "  To  be  sure,"  replied  the  gentle 
man.  —  "  Well,"  said  the  landlord  to  his  wife,  "  the  gentleman  says 
he'll  foot  the  bill."  —  The  housewife  immediately  commenced  her 
operations ;  and,  while  she  was  laying-  the  table,  the  gentleman  in 
black  had  insisted,  somewhat  against  their  will,  upon  bringing  old 
Greely  and  his  wife  into  the  apartment,  and  placing  them  in  a 
couple  of  chairs. 

"  Ye 're  a  raal  benivilint  jontlemon,  sir,"  said  the  pedler;  "I 
respict  ye,  sir,  for  your  ginerosity  to  they  poor  paaple.  It's  misery 
enough  they 's  had  in  their  dee,  Ise  warrant.  It's  ivident  they 'a 
waak  and  faable  into  the  bargin.  An  your  honor  's  agraable,  that 
they  shud  ha'  a  few  dhraps  o'  Cogniac  wid  their  maal,  jist  as  a 
midicine,  I'd  uppen  a  buttle,  wid  your  honor's  command  for  it." 

—  "  Not  a  drop,"  said  the  other,  with  an  expression  of  severity; 
"  and  I  beg  you  to  understand,  once  for  all,  that  I  have  no  faith 
whatever  in  your  skill."  —  The  pedler,  for  the  first  time,  appeared 
to  be  somewhat  humbled  ;  and,  dropping  the  slouched  side  of  his  hat 
towards  the  gentleman  in  black,  he  observed  the  strictest  silence  for 
an  unusual  period,  and  occupied  himself  in   repairing,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  mischief,  which  the  butcher  had  wrought,  among  the 
contents  of  "  his  little  bit  chist." 

Money,  that  omnipotent  prompter  among  the  stage-players  of  the 
present  world,  had  wonderfully  stimulated  the  energies  of  the  host 
and  hostess.  Bacon,  eggs,  bread,  butter,  pickles,  a  weather-beaten 
mince-pie,  the  complexion  of  whose  crust  was  as  cadaverous  as  that 
of  a  corpse,  and  a  dish  of  apple-sauce,  black — to  use  the  forcible 
comparison  of  Montgomery,  in  his  beautiful  tale  of  Zembo  and  Nila 

—  "as  midnight  without  moon" — all   these,  and   sundry  minor 
matters,  were  gathered  together  with  wonderful  celerity,  and  placed 
before  the  astonished  gaze  of  this  miserable  couple.     It  was  not  the 
•work  of  a  moment  for  their  kind-hearted  benefactor,  to  convince  old 
Greely  and  his  helpmate,  that  this  repast  was  intended  exclusively 
for  their  enjoyment.     "  Come,"  said  their  entertainer,  "  draw  your 
chairs  to  the  table,  and  make  a  hearty  meal  of  it.     Do  you  never  ask 
a  blessing,  when  God's  bounty  is  spread  before  you?"'  —  The  old 
man  appeared  exceedingly  embarrassed,  and  laid  down  the  half- 
raised  knife  and  fork  upon  the  table.     "  Honored  sir,"  said  he,  after 
a  brief  pause,  "  I  once  had  a  table  of  my  own ;  and,  when  1  was 
first  married  to  this  poor  woman,  I  did  use  to  ask  a  blessing,  morn 
ing,  noon,  and  night,  when  I  sat  down.     It  is  not  often  that  we 
get  a  chance  to  sit  down  at  any  table.     We  commonly  eat  whatever 
is  given  to  us,  by  the  road-side,  or  in  some  shed,  or  barn."  —  "  God 
of  the  forlorn,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  extending  hU  hand 


AS  A  MEDCCINE.  205 

•ver  the  board,  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  "  behold  these  supplicants, 
who  stand  before  tliee  in  their  trespasses  and  sins  ;  sanctify  to  their 
use  these  provisions  of  thy  bounty ;  pardon  their  offences ;  give  them 
a  just  understanding  of  the  error  of  their  ways,  and  enable  them, 
through  the  influence  of  thy  Holy  Spirit,  to  turn  from  that,  which  is 
evil,  and  cleave  to  that,  which  is  good  ;  and  this  we  ask  in  the  name 
of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord."  There  was  not  an  individual  present, 
who  was  not  solemnized  by  this  pious  ejaculation,  and  the  fervent 
manner  in  which  it  was  delivered.  "  Now,"  continued  he,  "  par 
take  in  a  grateful  spirit."  The  old  man  resumed  his  seat;  and  it 
was  pleasant  to  observe,  that  a  bitter  pilgrimage  of  sin  and  misery 
had  not  entirely  blunted  the  sensibility  of  his  heart  —  his  lip  trem 
bled  with  emotion,  and  the  tear  glistened  in  his  eye. 

"  And  now,  my  friends,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  turning  his 
back  upon  the  old  couple,  as  he  spoke,  which  movement,  whether 
accidental  or  designed,  enabled  them  to  enjoy  their  repast  with  less 
embarrassment —  "  now,"  said  he,  "  let  us  say  a  few  words  more, 
touching  this  law,  which  some  of  you  appear  inclined  to  find  fault 
with.  Intoxicating  liquor  is  a  terrible  curse.  Admitting,  for  the 
sake  of  argument,  that  it  is  ever  a  blessing,  as  a  medicine,  or  when 
employed  for  any  purpose  whatever,  yet,  on  the  whole,  so  far  as 
the  welfare  of  the  entire  community  is  concerned,  it  is  an  intoler 
able  curse.  If  any  man  will  demonstrate,  that  it  has  been  useful  in 
one  particular  example,  1  will  undertake  to  show  ten  thousand  exam 
ples,  in  which  it  has  proved  destructive  of  health,  riches,  respecta 
bility,  happiness,  reason,  and  life.  Even  when  employed  as  a  med 
icine,  the  benefit,  if  any,  is  often  accompanied  with  the  severest 
injury.  In  a  multitude  of  cases,  in  which  it  has  acquired  the  repu 
tation  of  a  restorative,  it  would  have  been  far  better  for  the  patient, 
in  point  of  character  and  happiness,  to  have  died  an  honest  death, 
than  to  have  been  preserved  a  little  longer,  that  he  might  transmit 
to  his  children  the  inheritance  of  a  parent's  drunkenness  and  shame.' 
—  "  Thrue  for  ye,  your  honor,"  cried  the  pedler  ^  "  it's  jist  there 
it  io,  the  defeeculty.  The  hull  matter 's  aisily  explain't,  it  is  indaad, 
sir.  Ower  the  pharmocopoly  shtore  o'  McClyster  and  Son,  at  Wa- 
terford,  where  I  sarved  an  apprintiship,  much  like,  as  I  toult  ye 
1  'm  thinking,  there  was  a  debating  society,  a  bit  hall,  I  maan,  for 
all  the  young  puttykerries  to  debate  in,  aboot  all  sarts  o'  pharmo 
copoly  mathers,  and  there  it  was  Ise  heer'd  this  idintical  mather 
debated,  and  thrated  in  a  most  masterly  way,  ye  may  wall  say  that. 
There  was  a  young  jontleman  o'  the  fratarnity,  and  there  was  n't  a 
puttekerry  in  all  the  length  of  Waterford  that  cud  holt  a  link  to  him 
for  pitting  up  a  doctor's  proscription.  It  mathered  not  to  him,  wed- 

VOL.  II  18 


206  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

der  the  doctor  writ  it  wid  a  goose's  quill,  or  the  big  end  of  a  shei 
la  ly  ;  he'd  pick  it  out  for  sartain.  There  was  Doctor  Pheiim 
O'Griper,  and  he  writ  sich  a  maan  fist  o'  it,  that  poor  Patrick 
McClosky  died  o'  a  hull  tally  candle,  that,  he  svvally'd,  wick  and  all, 
whin,  ye  saa,  Dr  O'Griper  meant  no  moor  nor  a  caudle  to  he  taken 
immadiately.  The  young  man  I  'm  shpaking  o'  niver  failed  to 
comprehind  the  most  difeecultest  of  Dr.  O'Griper's  proscriptions. 
Wall,  your  honor,  this  young  jontleman  was  up  to  chapping  logic, 
and  nobuddy  cud  pitch  him  at  mattyfeesick.  He  raasoned  o'  the 
liiatter  jist  this  a  way.  The  abuse  o'  the  virry  bist  o'  Cogniac  's 
no  raason  agin  the  use  o'  that  same.  The  hoith  o'  all  propriety 
requires,  that  it  should  be  tookt  as  a  midicine.  Now,  if  a  fool  o'  a 
felly  wull  make  a  baast  o1  himsel,  and  tak  moor  nor  is  good  for  him, 
that  ?s  na  the  fault  o'  the  pharmocopoly,  but  his  oon,  the  baast  that 
he  was.  So,  ye  saa,  it 's  jist  haar,  it  is  ;  whin  a  buddy  takes  moor 
nor  is  good  for  his  particular  graavance,  thin  he  na  longer  takes 
it  as  a  midicine ;  but  whin  he  takus  presaasely  the  quuntum 
soffeecit,  thin,  ye  saa,  he  takes  it  as  a  midicine,  o'  coorse.  Now, 
sir,  is  there  raasoning  moor  irre  frig  able  nor  that?"  — "  I  approve 
neither  your  reasoning  nor  your  prescriptions,''  replied  the  other. 
"  There  is  an  insurmountable  difficulty  attending  the  employment  of 
intoxicating  liquor,  as  a  medicine ;  for  ninety-nine  persons  in  a  hun 
dred  will  infallibly  contract  the  habit  of  taking  too  much  physic. 
Mercurial  diseases  are  well  known  to  be  frequently  far  more  un 
manageable  than  those  very  disorders,  which  mercury  itself  was 
intended  to  remove.  This  observation  is,  assuredly,  as  true  of  alco 
holic  disorders  of  mind,  body,  and  estate,  which  are  so  commonly 
the  effects  of  intoxicating  liquor,  taken  as  a  medicine.  If  men  so 
readily  become  drunkards,  for  the  mere  love  of  the  liquor,  as  a  bev 
erage,  how  much  will  this  evil  be  increased,  when  the  liquor  is 
swallowed  under  an  imaginary  sense  of  duty !  If,  for  the  sake  of 
getting  better,  a  man  will  receive  into  his  stomach  the  most  nause 
ous  doses,  and  increase  their  quantity  from  day  to  day,  how  much 
more  readily  will  he  do  all  this,  when  the  medicine  is  altogether 
agreeable  to  his  taste  !  If  the  disagreeable  character  of  most  med 
icine,  and  the  consequent  reluctance  to  take  it,  have  tended  to 
diminish  the  amount  of  imaginary  sickness,  may  we  not  reasonably 
anticipate  the  wide  spread  of  all  sorts  of  fantastical  diseases,  when 
the  remedial  process  involves  nothing,  more  unpleasant  to  the  vol 
untary  invalid,  than  lying  in  bed  and  taking  drams.  It  is  now  well 
ascertained,  as  I  before  remarked,  that  an  equally  efficient  substitute 
may  be  tbund  for  alcohol,  in  every  case,  where  it  has  been  employed 
bivnerto  "  —  "I  wish,  mister,  you  could  hear  Squire  Pronk  talk  o 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  207 

the  vartoo  on  it,"  said  a  lank,  tawny  weasel-faced  man,  who  sat  in 
the  chimney-corner,  smoking  for  the  asthma ;  "your  notions  and 
his'n  wouldn't  fadge  no  how,  I  guess."  —  "  Indaad,  and  they  wud 
not;  he  's  a  raal  mon  o'  sinse,  that  squire,"  cried  the  pedler,  who 
seemed  greatly  refreshed  by  the  appearance  of  a  coadjutor.  "  How 
onlike  this  here  gentleman's  talk  is,"  said  Atherton,  addressing  the 
landlord,  "to  what  Dr.  Bull  gin  out,  the  day  of  the  gin'ral  mus 
ter  !"  —  "  Is  it  not  fro'  Ireland,  that  Bull?"  inquired  the  pedler.  — 
"  No,  I  guess  he  an't,"  said  Atherton  ;  "  he 's  from  up  Coos."  — 
"  I  thought,"  rejoined  the  pedler,  "  he  might  be  one  o'  the  Bulls  o' 
Ballymore."  —  "  Well,  ye  see  he  an't,"  said  Atherton. 

"Have  you  a  temperance  society  in  this  region?"  inquired  the 
gentleman  in  black.  —  "  Sartin,"  replied  the  landlord  ;  "  there  's  one 
on  'em  sot  up  in  every  town,  eenamost ;  Squire  Pronk  's  the  president 
on  it  this  year,  and  Dr.  Bull  was  last  year." —  "  And  do  you  mean 
to  say,  that  either  of  them  approves  of  the  use  of  alcohol?"  inquired 
the  other.  —  "Sartin,"  replied  the  host.  "Squire  Pronk  never 
goes  along  without  taking  a  glass  o'  whiskey."  —  "But  it'sivei 
as  a  midicine,  ye  '11  plase  to  onderstand,"  said  the  pedler.  —  "  Sar 
tin,  sartin,"  cried  the  landlord,  with  a  chuckling  laugh,  in  which 
several  of  those  present  appeared  willing  to  join. —  "  Pray  inform 
me,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "when  you  take  brandy,  or 
whiskey,  as  a  medicine,  do  you  send  first  for  a  physician?"  —  This 
interrogatory  had  well-nigh  closed  the  career  of  him  with  the 
asthma.  His  laughter  became  a  perfect  paroxysm  of  bellowing  and 
wheezing.  —  "  No,  no,"  said  the  landlord,  "  we  han't  got  to  that 
quite ;  we  han't  gin  up  our  liberties  up  here  yet.  Send  for  a  doctor 
to  tell  a  man  when  it 's  time  for  toddy  or  a  sling !  haw,  haw, 
haw!"  —  "  Well,  my  friends,"  resumed  the  gentleman  in  black, 
"  you  have  had  your  laugh.  I  will  now  exhibit  before  you  a  very 
intelligible  picture  of  your  own  inconsistency  and  folly.  Your  very 
mirth,  when  you  affirm  that  your  Squire  takes  his  whiskey  as  a 
medicine,  abundantly  proves  that  you  entirely  disbelieve  your  own 
statement.  Opposed,  as  you  are,  to  the  Temperance  Society,  you 
are  highly  gratified  with  this  example  of  inconsistency  in  one  of  its 
members.  You  would  scarcely  be  willing,  I  presume,  to  adminis 
ter  calomel  to  yourselves,  or  your  wives,  or  your  children,  unless  by 
the  direction  of  a  physician.  Yet  calomel  is  not  more  certainly  a 
poison  than  alcohol,  and  the  latter  has  proved  inexpressibly  more 
mischievous  to  man  than  the  former." 

"  The  difeeculty,"  said  the  pedler,  "  saams  to  mysilf  to  lie  here 
a  way,  your  honor ;  if  we  're  to  be  all  tied  up  wid  a  law,  peribitin 
the  sale  o'  it,  what,  in  the  name  o'  natur,  wull  the  poor  do  for  theii 


208  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

midicine"!  That 's  it,  an  plase  ye,  and  your  honrr  saams  to  be  a 
frind  to  the  poor  ony  how."  —  "  You  and  our  worthy  host  here," 
replied  the  gentleman  in  black,  "appear  quite  willing  to  persuade 
yourselves  and  others,  that  the  poor  are  to  be  deprived  of  some  ines 
timable  blessing,  by  the  passage  of  a  prohibitory  law.  Now,  the 
truth  lies  precisely  the  other  way.  I  have  heard  of  an  Irish  bishop, 
whose  steward  informed  him,  in  midwinter,  that  the  period  had 
arrived  for  filling  his  ice-cellar,  inquiring,  at  the  same  time,  what 
disposition  he  should  make  of  the  old  ice,  which  still  remained  ;  to 
which  this  philanthropic  prelate  replied  —  '  Why,  Patrick,  ye  may 
a'an  bestow  't  upon  the  most  dasarving  o'  the  parish.'  I  look  upon 
your  philanthropy,  my  good  friends,  and  that  of  all  other  liquor-sel 
lers,  who  are  so  very  solicitous  that  the  poor  should  not  be  deprived 
of  the  means  of  drunkenness,  as  precisely  equivalent  to  that  of  the 
bishop  ;  but  I  should  be  happy  to  believe,  that  the  bestowment  of 
intoxicating  liquor  was  as  harmless  as  that  of  ice  in  midwinter. 
The  grave-yard  in  every  village  contains  the  ashes  of  many  a  poor 
man,  whom  this  blessing  has  brought  prematurely  to  the  ground ; 
and  I  should  rejoice  to  know,  that  intoxicating  liquor  was  entirely 
discarded  from  medical  practice."  — "  I  'm  sure,"  cried  the  woman 
with  the  crutch,  in  a  whining  voice,  "I  don't  know  what  would 
become  o'  me."  —  "The  virry  same  to  mysilf,"  cried  the  pedler. 

—  "And  pray,  ma'am,"  inquired  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  what 
is  the  matter  with  you?" — "Matter  wi'  me?     Why,  it's  mat 
ter  enough,  I  can  tell  ye,"  she  replied;  "it's  so  hot  in  here  a 
body  's  eenamost  suffercated.     I  've  got  about  the  horridest  leg  you 
ever  seed,  I  guess  ;  would  n't  you  like  to  look  at  it  ?"  —  "I  have  no 
particular  occasion,"  replied  the  other.  —  "I  'd  jist  as  live  show  it 
as  not ;  most  everybody  's  seen  it.     Dr.  Bull  says  it 's  the  beate- 
most  thing  he  ever  see  ;  don't  ye  think  'tis,  Mr.  Marphy?" — "  I 
niver  saad  the  like  o'  it  in  the  oult  contree,"  replied  the  pedler. — 
"  Hadn't  ye  better  look  at  it,  mister?"  said  the  corpulent  woman, 
who  appeared  ambitious  of  being  distinguished  as  the  proprietress 
of  an  incomparable  ulcer.  —  "If  you  will  excuse  me,  my  good 
woman,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "I  had  a  little  rather  take 
your  word  for  it.     Pray  inform  me  how  long  you  have  been  afflicted 
in  this  manner." — "Why,  I  can't  remember  nothin  —  lets  me 
see  —  how  long  is  it,  Dr.  Marphy,  since  I  began  to  doctor  for  it?" 

—  "  Why,  now,"  replied  the  pedler,  upon  whom  this  bestowment 
of  his  professional  title  produced  a  very  visible  effect  —  "  it 's  a  lang 
time  to  be  sure,  moor  nor  tin  yaars,  it  is,  I  'm  thinking."  —  "  Pray, 
Dr.  Murphy,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  with  an  air  of  gravity, 
which  did  not  conceal  from  a  careful  observer  an  expression  of  frol- 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  209 

icsome  contempt  —  "pray,  doctor,  as  this  patient  appears  to  have 
been  under  your  care,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  give  us  a 
description  of  her  complaint."  —  Murphy  turned  his  goggles  upon 
the  inquirer,  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  the  spirit  which  dictated  the 
interrogatory.  His  suspicions,  if  any  existed  in  his  mind,  were 
completely  lulled  to  slumber,  by  the  imperturbable  countenance  of 
the  gentleman  in  black ;  and,  conscious  that  his  reputation  in  the 
highlands  might  suffer  for  lack  of  a  little  professional  assurance,  he 
resolved  to  put  a  bold  face  upon  the  matter.  "  It 's  a  most  extrar- 
dinary  case,  it  is  indaad,"  said  he.  "A  buddy  must  be  daap 
in  pharmacopoly  to  comprehind  the  dignosis  o'  this  poor  leddy'f* 
dishtamper.  It  saamed  to  be  an  iddumatus  swalling."  —  "  Yes," 
said  the  patient,  "  that 's  what  't  was  ;  I  remember  the  name  now. 
There  was  nine  cancers."  — "  Och,  niver  mind  aboot  they  can 
cers,"  cried  the  doctor;  "they  wasn't  worth  shpakin  oV  — 
"And  what  became  of  these  nine  cancers?"  said  the  gentleman 
in  black.  —  "They  was  all  cured  right  away,  the  hull  nine  o' 
em,"  replied  the  other.  "But  it  saamed  as  it  niver  wud  haal, 
the  chaaf  throuble,  and  it  niver  did.  though  I  've  warked  upon 
it  tin  yaars,  at  the  laast.  If  i*.  haaled  ower  night,  'twas  a  did 
sartinty  't  wud  brick  oot  agin  afoor  marning."  —  "Well,  Dr. 
Murphy,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  still  preserving  the  same 
solemnity  of  manner,  "  what  process  of  cure  have  you  adopted 
in  the  present  instance?"  —  "The  sacrits  o'  my  profission,  your 
honor,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  are  not  so  virry  chaap  as  to  be 
toult  for  jist  nathing  at  all ;  however,  as  your  honor  saams  to  be 
a  jontleman,  I  '11  'ave  no  objiction  to  infarm  ye,  that  Cogniac's  a 
speceefic  for  iddumitus  tumors."  —  "  Do  inform  me,  my  good  wo 
man,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  have  you  applied  the  brandy 
inside  or  outside  ?"  —  "  Lord  a'massy,  I  've  applied  it  a'most  every 
way  you  can  think  on.  I  've  washed  my  leg  in  it  for  ten  years,  and 
Dr.  Marphy  's  always  advised  me  to  take  a  little  to  keep  up  my 
strength."  —  "  Not  presasely  that,  your  honor,"  cried  the  doctor, 
evidently  apprehensive  lest  his  mode  of  practice  should  be  misap 
prehended —  "not  presasely  that,  sir;  but,  faaring  list  the  bad 
humors  wud  git  rappilled  claan  into  the  wumin's  vitality,  I  'se  ric- 
omminded  to  corrict  the  qualifications  o'  her  stomic  and  booils  wid 
a  strenthener,  two  or  thraa  times  the  dee  ;  but  iver  as  a  midioine." 
— "  Wall,  there  now,  Dr.  Marphy,"  exclaimed  the  patient,  in  a 
whining  tone,  "  I  've  follered  your  proscription,  I  'm  sartin,  as  faith 
ful  as  ever  you  see.  It  happened,  once  or  twice,  to  be  sure,  that  I 
was  out  o'  brandy,  and  I  thought  I  should  'a  died ;  but  jist  arter, 
you  kirn  up,  and  I  got  a  fresh  supply.  I  b'lieve  my  soul  I  should 
VOL.  n.  •  18* 


210  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

'a  gin  right  up,  if  you  had  n't  'a  kim  up  jist  in  the  nick  o'  time,  aa 
you  did." — "  There's  na  doot  o'  it,"  replied  the  doctor. 

"  Murphy,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  with  a  keen  severity  of 
expression,  which  caused  the  pedler  to  bend  his  eyes  upon  the  floor, 
"  do  you  know,  that  you  deserve  to  be  indicted  as  an  ignorant  im 
postor?"  —  "And  is  that  a  dacent  spaach  fro'  a  minishter,  like  your- 
silf,  sir?"  cried  the  pedler.  —  "I  have  not  the  happiness,"  replied 
the  other,  "  to  be  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  as  you  seem  to  suppose. 
I  have  been  a  physician  for  some^hirty  years.  For  your  imposi 
tions  upon  the  credulity  of  ignorant  people,  you  deserve  to  be  set  in 
the  pillory.  You  know  that  I  perfectly  understand  the  absurdity 
of  your  practice,  as  you  presume  to  call  it ;  and,  if  it  were  not  ex 
tremely  inconvenient  for  me,  residing,  as  I  do,  at  a  distance,  I 
would  have  you  taken  before  a  magistrate,  and  I  should  desire  no 
other  evidence  to  convict  you,  than  your  own  declarations,  in  regard 
to  your  preposterous  treatment  of  this  miserable  woman."  —  "  Mis 
erable  woman ! ' '  exclaimed  the  party  to  whom  this  epithet  was 
applied.  "  I  don  know  whereabouts  you  larned  your  perliteness, 
mister.  What  makes  me  a  miserable  woman,  I  wants  to  know  ?  I 
guess  I  'm  about  as  well  to  live  as  most  of  my  neighbors."  —  "  1 
mean  no  offence,  my  good  woman,"  replied  the  other  ;  "  but  I  can 
not  repress  my  indignation,  when  I  encounter  such  an  example  of 
gross  imposition,  as  this  unprincipled  fellow  has  practised  upon 
you."  —  "A  buddy  must  git  his  living  some  how  or  anudder,"  said 
the  pedler  in  a  subdued,  and  rather  deprecatory  tone  of  voice.  — 
"  Upon  the  very  same  principle,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  the 
liquor-seller,  who  lives,  literally,  by  the  death  of  his  brother,  con 
tends  that  he  must  not  be  disturbed  in  his  barbarous  occupation, 
although  he  is  notoriously  scattering  disease,  and  poverty,  and 
death,  among  the  community.  I  tell  you  —  for  I  believe  it  to  be  my 
duty  t  warn  you  of  your  terrible  mistake  —  that  this  fellow  is  an 
ignotant  impostor,  and  it  is  to  me  a  matter  of  surprise,  that  you  have 
not  already  become  a  drunkard,  or  died  of  a  fever."  — "  How  dread 
ful  hot  it's  a  gittin,"  cried  the  poor  woman,  as  she  continued  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  from  her  brow.  "  How  cud  you  take  me  in 
so,  Marphy,  pretendin  as  how  you  was  a  doctor?  You  told  me  I  'd 
got  a  dummaty  swellin,  and  ever  so  many  cancers,  you  did,  and 
that  nothin  wud  halp  me  but  brandy.  Dr.  Bull  told  me  I  took 
too  much,  and  he  an't  agin  the  use  on  't,  as  a  medicine,  neither." 
— "  Wall,"  cried  the  pedler,  who  perceived  that  it  was  time  for 
him  to  be  gone,  and  was  accordingly  repacking  his  wares  as  fast  as 
possible  —  "  wall,  was  it  not  afoor  ye  iver  saa  mysilf,  that  Dr.  Bull 
toult  ye  that  same?"  —  "  Ye  're  an  imp 'dent,  lyin  feller,"  cried  the 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  211 

corpilent  woman.  — "  Naat  shpakin  and  right  dacent  waids,  for  a 
leddy,  to  be  sure,"  cried  the  pedler,  hastening  his  preparations 
to  be  gone.  —  "  Ye  never  heered  Dr.  Bull  say  nothir.  agin  me,  I 
know,"  said  the  woman.  —  "I  niver  sed  I  did,"  replied  the  pedler, 
locking  his  little  bit  chist.  "  He  sed  no  moor  nor  this,  sed  he,  one 
dee,  all  in  maar  plisintry,  na  doot  — '  Marphy,'  sed  he,  '  it's  all  a 
wark  o'  superiorgatkm  for  ye  to  be  rubbin  in  the  shpirit  into  that 
good  wumin's  lig.  Jist  lit  the.daar  sowl  all  alone  by  hersilf  wi  a 
plinty  o'  Cogniac,  and  saa  if  «he  don't  rub  it  in  thraa  gills  to  your 
one,  her  oon  way. '  "  —  "  What  a  wicked  liar  you  be!"  said  the 
woman,  with  a  face  of  scarlet.  "  If  I  was  a  man,"  lifting  her 
crutch,  as  she  spoke,  "I'd  lay  this  over  your  silly  head,  you  Irish 
villin.  You  a  doctor!  How  he  has  sarved  me!  I'll  tell  ye  jist 
the  villin  he  is.  Don't  ye  think  —  "  But  the  pedler  stopped  not 
to  listen  to  the  good  woman's  panegyric.  His  pack  was  upon  his 
shoulders,  and  his  shellala  in  his  grasp.  "  I  wush  na  ill  to  nabuddy  ; 
God  bliss  ye,  Mr.  Goslin,"  said  he.  "Good  bye  t'  ye,  Marphy,' 
replied  the  landlord  ;  "  the  jig  's  all  up  with  ye  in  the  hills,  I 
reckon." — "There's  mony '11  be  sad  enoof,  though,  beside  the 
lame  widdy  yonder,  and  it  '11  not  be  aisy  to  bate  me  oot  o'  it,  that 
it's  a  naat  thing  as  a  midicine  ony  how."  —  The  oedler  toiled  up 
the  hills  with  his  burden  on  his  shoulders,  preferring  to  encounter 
the  storm  without  than  the  tempest  within. 

"  I  never  calc'lated  he  was  a  riglar  doctor,"  said  the  landlord. — 
"  He  "s  had  a  mortal  sight  a  practice  up  here  along,"  said  Ather- 
ton  ;  "he  used  to  say,  that  most  o'  the  doctors  hadn't  no  con 
science,  and  that  half  their  patients  was  eat  up  with  marcry.  His 
chief  physic  was  brandy,  or,  as  he  called  it,  akyvity  ;  I  'de  heered 
him  say  as  how  he  could  eenamost  raise  the  dead  with  the  very  best 
on  it."  —  "Dear  me,"  cried  the  woman  with  the  crutch;  "the 
rillin  !  I  don't  b'lieve  one  word  he  said,  now  ;  but  he  's  told  me 
fifty  times,  I  guess,  that  he  would  a  raised  'em  himself  in  the  old 
country,  but  the  pelice  interfared  and  wouldn't  let  him  do  it."  — 
"  I  am  of  opinion,"  said  the  gentleman  in  black,  "  that  the  practice 
of  this  impudent  scoundrel  would  have  been  very  much  less,  if  his 
physic  had  not  been  so  agreeable  to  his  patients.  And  now,"  con 
tinued  he,  turning  to  the  objects  of  his  bounty,  who  had  finished 
their  repast,  "since  you  proposed  to  give  us  something  of  your 
history,  we  should  be  pleased  to  listen  to  your  narrative."  —  "  Why, 
sir,"  said  the  old  man,  "I've  been  almost  sorry  I  said  anything 
about  it.  It 's  hardly  worth  telling  ;  but  what  you  said  about  the 
effect  of  spirit,  taken  as  a  medicine,  was  so  true,  according  to  my 
awn  experience,  that  I  was  tempted  to  give  you  some  accoun  of 


212  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

my  own  case."  —  "That,"  replied  the  physician,  "is  the  very 
reason  why  I  am  desirous  of  hearing-  it.  I  have  long  believed,  that 
intoxicating  liquor,  taken  as  a  medicine,  has  ruined  thousands.  You 
have  the  appearance  of  an  intemperate  man,  and,  if  your  habit  had 
its  origin  in  the  use  of  spirit,  taken  as  a  medicine,  I  should  be 
pleased  to  hear  an  exact  account  of  the  manner,  in  which  that  habit 
was  contracted,  and  as  much  of  your  personal  history  as  you  think 
proper  to  relate."  —  "Mr.  Joslyn,"  said  the  old  man,  "has  told 
you  I  am  superannuated.  I  do  not  feel  so  ;  and,  if  it  was  n't  for 
the  habit,  which  has  made  me  and  this  poor  woman  just  what  we 
are,  I  think  I  should  be  as  respectable  and  as  able  to  earn  my  biead 
as  I  was  thirty  years  ago.  But  the  habit  of  drinking  —  and  the 
evidence  of  a  drinking  man  may  be  taken,  I  suppose  —  is  stronger 
than  bolts  and  bars.  I  'm  half  ashamed  to  confess,  how  much  I 
hanker  for  liquor  while  I  am  thinking  or  talking  about  it."  — 
"  Your  language  and  your  good  sense,"  said  the  physician,  "are 
so  entirely  at  variance  with  your  outward  appearance,  that  I  am 
desirous  of  knowing,  if  you  have  ever  had  the  advantages  of  edu 
cation."  —  "  No,  sir,"  replied  the  old  man  ;  "I  was  prepared  for 
college,  but  my  parents  felt  themselves  too  poor  to  support  me  there. 
A  large  part  of  my  history  is  well  known  to  more  than  one  that  are 
here  now,  and  they  can  easily  set  me  right,  if  I  state  anything  which 
is  not  perfectly  true.  I  am  now  over  seventy  years  old,  and  I've 
been  in  the  habit  of  using  spirit  for  more  than  fifty.  The  doctors 
have  told  me  very  often,  that,  if  I  hadn't  an  iron  constitution,  it 

would  have  been  over  with  me  long  ago.     I  was  born  in , 

where  I  lived  the  first  forty  years  of  my  life,  forty  or  forty-one  — 

how  long  was  it,  Mr.  Joslyn,  that  I  lived  in after  you  opened 

your  shop  there?"  —  "Don't  remember  nothin  about  it,"  said 
Joslyn ;  "  what  in  the  name  o'  natur,  Daddy  Greely,  are  you  a 
going  to  tell  that  old  story  over  again  for?  Why,  mister,"  con 
tinued  he,  addressing  the  physician,  "  the  old  man's  tongue  '11  run 
as  long  as  Saco  river,  if  you  don't  dam  it  up  somehow  or  other." 
—  "  Good  Mr.  Joslyn,"  said  the  physician,  "  this  old  man  is  willing 
to  tell  his  story,  and  I  am  willing  to  hear  it.  Proceed  if  you  please. " 
— "  Well,  sir,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "my  father  was  a  farmer, 
and  both  my  parents  were  honest,  hard-M'orking  people.  Was  n' 
it  so,  Mr.  Atherton  ?"  —  "  They  were  good  friends  to  me,"  replied 
Atherton,  "and  I  never  heered  a  word  agin  either  on  'em.''  — 
"  There,"  cried  Joslyn,  "  now  he  's  got  a  start,  and  old  Nick  won't 
stop  him,  arter  the  ile  o'  fool  you  've  gin  him  about  his  father."  — 
"Pshaw!"  said  Atherton,  "do  let  the  old  man  talk,  if  he  will; 
it's  eenamost  the  only  rickeration  he's  got."  — "Let  him  talk 


AS  A 'MEDICINE.  213 

then  ;  I  don't  c\re,"  ?aid  Joslyn  ;  "  only  he  's  so  dreadful  petiklar 
about  every  little  thing."  —  "Mr.  Joslyn,"  said  the  physician, 
"  you  seem  to  be  very  unwilling  that  I  should  be  gratified  in  my 
wish  to  hear  this  old  man's  story.  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  to 
you,  if  you  will  permit  him  to  relate  it  without  interruption."  — 
"Don't  care  a  snap  for  him,  nor  his  story  neither;  only  mind, 
Daddy  Greely,  arter  to-day,  don't  you  come  here  any  more."  — 
"  Be  so  good  as  to  proceed,"  said  the  physician.  As  the  old  man 
recommenced,  "He's  eenamost  non  compis,  and  he  ought  to  be 
took  up,"  cried  Joslyn,  taking  the  tobacco  from  his  mouth,  and 
throwing  it  angrily  on  the  hearth.  "  My  parents  had  me  fitted  for 
college,  as  I  told  you,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  that  just  about 
unfitted  me  for  the  farm  ;  and,  as  they  could  n't  afford  to  send  me,  it 
was  difficult  to  say  what  I  should  do  next.  I  kept  the  town  school 
three  or  four  winters,  and  helped  on  the  farm  in  the  farming  season. 
My  parents,  at  this  time,  were  strictly  temperate ;  and,  till  about 
two  years  before  my  father's  death,  we  had  no  spirit  in  our  house. 
At  that  time,  there  were  three  brothers  and  two  sisters  of  us  in  the 
family.  We  lived  happily  enough  then.  My  parents  were  religious 
people,  and  we  were  all  brought  up,  as  it  would  be  called  now-a 
days,  rather  strictly.  If  there  was  anything  that  father  and  mother 
both  seemed  to  abhor,  that  thing  was  a  drunkard.  About  two  years 
before  my  father  died,  he  had  a  troublesome  complaint,  for  which 
the  doctor  advised  him  to  make  use  of  a  little  gin.  He  was  very 
unwilling  to  follow  this  advice  ;  but  the  doctor  almost  insisted  upon 
it.  So  he  said  he  would  have  no  more  of  it  in  the  house. than  was 
absolutely  necessary  ;  and  he  gave  me  a  moderate-sized  phial  to  get 
it  in.  It  was  so  small,  that  I  well  remember  how  you  laughed,  Mr. 
Joslyn,  when  you  filled  it.  You  held  it  above  a  tumbler  to  fill  it, 
and  about  half  a  gill  run  over  into  the  tumbler.  Don't  you  recollect 
what  you  said  to  me?" —  "Don't  remember  nothin  about  it," 
replied  Joslyn,  gruffly.  —  "  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  never  shall 
forget  it ;  said  you,  *  When  the  old  gentleman  gets  a  taste  of  this 
Hollands,  if  he  don't  say  it 's  morish,  I  '11  treat.  He  won't  send  a 
pliial  next  time  ;  come,  friend  Ethan,'  said  you,  '  take  what 's  left 
in  the  tumbler  yourself;  you're  right  welcome.'  I  hesitated  a 
little  ;  but  seeing  father  was  going  to  take  it,  I  thought  I  'd  see  how 
it  tasted,  at  any  rate.  So  I  took  it  off.  'This  is  my  first  dram,' 
said  I.  '  'T  won't  be  your  last,  though  ;  you  're  inoculated,  Eihan, 
I  guess,'  said  you,  with  a  laugh.  There  never  was  a  truer  proph 
et." —  "  Greely,"  cried  the  landlord,  "  I  b'lieve  you  take  a  raal 
pleasure  in  Hinging  this  ere  in  my  teeth.  You  've  done  it  fifty  times 
a'ready,  and  I  '11  tell  ye  what  'tis,  I  won't  bear  it  no  longer."  — 


214  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

"  Good  Mr.  Joslyn,"  said  the  physician,  "  I  do  not  see  any  cause 
for  so  much  excitement.  This  poor  old  man  is  entitled  to  the  privi 
lege  "f  telling  the  truth  in  a  decent  manner.  He  says  that  the  first 
dram  he  ever  drank  was  administered  by  your  hands ,  and  probably 
he  perceives  a  connection  between  that  original  a  ;t  and  his  present 
deplorable  condition.  Yours  is  not  a  very  uncommon  case.  Depend 
upon  it,  gooa  Mr.  Joslyn,  no  man  can  be  long  a  dram-seller,  whose 
fortune  it  will  not  be  to  administer  the  very  first  dram  to  more  than 
one,  who  must  ultimately  die  drunkards.  So  unquestionable  is  this 
tremendously  awful  truth,  that  it  must  be  taken  into  the  account  of 
every  man  who  deals  in  this  tincture  of  destruction  ;  and  if  to  be 
admitted  into  the  mater ia  medico,  at  all,  such  is  its  appropriate  title. 
It  must  be  set  down  as  one  of  the  inevitable  conditions  of  this  hate 
ful  traffic,  that  the  dealer  must  initiate  some  Into  the  mysteries  of 
intemperance,  and  consummate  the  perfect  work  of  misery  for  others. 
A  dram-seller  and  a  drunkard-maker  are  convertible  terms  ;  they 
mean  precisely  one  and  the  same  thing.  But,  good  Mr.  Joslyn,  you 
are  a  stickler  for  the  liberties  of  the  people  :  so  am  I  ;  and  I  must 
insist,  on  my  own  account,  and  upon  that  of  this  poor  man,  that  we 
have  a  perfect  right  to  converse  upon  any  subject  in  an  orderly 
manner,  in  our  own  house ;  and  such  is  every  public  house  into 
which  we  happen  to  enter.  There  is  no  obligation  on  your  part  to 
listen  longer  than  the  conversation  may  prove  agreeable."  —  "  I  an't 
agoin  to  be  turned  out  o'  my  house,  neither,"  said  the  landlord  ; 
"  and  I  '11  listen  jist  as  long  as  I  see  fit."  —  "  Agreed,  good  Mr 
Joslyn,"  said  the  physician  ;  "  and  now,  my  poor  old  man,  go  on 
with  your  story,  if  you  please,  which  to  me  has  become  highly 
interesting  already. ' ' 

"  Well,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "  I  would  not  have  believed  your 
prediction  could  have  come  true  so  soon,  Mr.  Joslyn,  if  I  had  not 
witnessed  its  fulfilment  myself.  The  phial  of  gin  was  very  soon 
consumed.  My  father  believed  that  it  was  of  great  use  to  him  ; 
and  we  were  all  highly  pleased  with  the  effect  it  appeared  to  have 
upon  his  health  and  spirits.  It  was  not  two  days  before  he  sent 
me  for  more  gin.  '  You  may  as  well  take  a  black  bottle,  Ethan,' 
said  my  father  ;  '  it  is  the  greatest  help  to  me  1  have  ever  tried.' 
I  remember  how  you  laughed,  when  I  came  the  second  time  to  your 
shop.  I  could  n't  help  laughing,  myself.  '  If  you  '11  pour  it  over  a 
tumbler,  may  be  I  '11  get  my  fee,'  said  I.  '  Well,  well,'  said  you, 
*  I  don't  stand  about  a  trifle  with  a  good  customer  '  That  was  my 
second  dram."  —  "  You  've  got  a  mortal  memory,  Daddy  Greely," 
said  Joslyn;  "I  guess  you  remember  a  good  many  things  that 
never  happened."  —  « I  'm  sure,"  said  Greely  those  were  your 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  215 

words ;  and  you  told  ir  e  that  nobody  ever  knew  the  good  of  it,  till 
he  tried  it  hot,  with  a  little  sweetening-,  and  a  toad  in  it.  I  liked  it 
so  well  already,  that  I  began  to  think  I  could  possibly  contrive  to 
take  a  dram,  now  and  then,  out  of  father's  bottle.  Though  I  had 
certainly  executed  my  commission  within  a  reasonable  time,  father, 
who  was  waiting  at  the  door,  scolded  me  for  my  delay ;  and,  as  my 
dram  had,  even  then,  produced  some  effect  upon  me,  I  gave  him  a 
saucy  answer.  It  was  the  first  disrespectful  word  I  ever  said  to 
him.  He  was  so  astonished,  that  he  set  down  the  bottle,  and 
looked  at  me  with  amazement,  as  I  walked  away.  I  was  ashamed 
of  myself,  and,  in  about  five  minutes,  I  went  back  and  begged  his 
pardon.  He  readily  forgave  me ;  and,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart, 
lie  offered  me  a  part  of  a  glass  of  gin,  cautioning  me  never  to 
take  it,  except  as  a  medicine.  I  was  surprised  to  see  him  take  a 
second  glass  almost  immediately.  Shortly  after,  he  began  to  talk 
with  me  in  a  very  familiar  manner,  and  was  proceeding  to  tell  me 
the  particulars  of  his  will ;  when  Ebenezer,  my  eldest  brother,  came 
in  to  say  that  a  shower  was  coming  up,  and  to  ask  him  and  myself 
to  help  the  hired  men,  who  were  getting  in  the  hay.  '  No,'  said 
he,  'you  and  Ethan  can  attend  to  it ;  first  put  the  saddle  on  the 
mare ;  I  'm  a  going  right  down  to  the  doctor's,  to  tell  him  what  a 
world  of  good  this  gin  has  done  me,  and  to  ask  him  why  he  never 
thought  of  it  before.'  —  My  mother  was  occasionally  troubled  with 
cramp  in  the  stomach  ;  and  father,  one  Jay,  advised  her  to  try  a  lit 
tle  of  his  gin.  She  tried  the  experiment,  and  was  so  much  pleased 
with  the  result  of  it,  that  she  soon  came  to  have  a  separate  bottle 
for  her  own  particular  use.  We  all  of  us,  in  due  time,  began  to 
think  that  a  little  gin  was  indispensable  in  hot  weather,  and  in  cold 
weather,  and  in  wet  weather ;  and  even  my  sisters  came  at  last  to 
the  opinion,  that  they  could  not  get  along  on  washing  days  without 
it.  As  my  father's  phial  soon  gave  place  to  a  quart  bottle,  so  the 
quart  bottle  was  exchanged,  before  long,  for  a  case  bottle  ;  and 
that,  before  six  months  had  passed,  was  laid  aside,  and  our  gin  was 
procured  in  a  demijohn,  after  you  persuaded  father,  Mr.  Joslyn,  that 
it  would  come  a  trifle  cheaper  by  the  five  gallons."  —  *'  Well," 
said  the  landlord,  "  it  did  come  cheaper,  in  the  long  run,  did  n't  it?" 
—  "  The  long  run !"  said  the  old  man,  rolling  up  his  eyes ;  "it  has 
proved  dear  enough  to  us  all,  in  the  long  run  ;  and  I  M  chop  off  my 
right  hand  this  minute,  if  I  could  only  feel  as  I  did  the  hour  before 
yon  persuaded  me  to  drink  that  first  glass  of  gin."  —  "  Well,  why 
don't  you  leave  off  now,  then,  you  old  fool?"  said  Joslyn. — 
"  Dear,  good  Mr.  Joslyn,"  said  the  genlleman  in  black,  "  I  beg 
you  to  be  a  little  less  seveie  upon  this  poor  old  man  :  depend  upon 


216  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

it,  he  is  no  more  entitled  to  the  appellation  of  an  old  fool,  than  yottf 
inn  hero  to  the  sign  of  the  good  Samaritan.  You  seem  to  suppose 
that  an  intemperate  man  can  cast  off  his  horrible  habit,  as  easily  as 
we  cast  off  our  old  shoes.  Such  is  nothing  like  the  truth.  W.en 
you  told  him,  after  he  had  taken  his  first  glass  of  intoxicating  liquor, 
that  he  was  inoculated,  you  could  not  have  selected  a  more  appro 
priate  word.  Alcohol  is  a  poison ;  and  the  virus  cannot  more  per 
fectly  enter  into  the  system,  when  a  fatal  disease  is  communicated 
by  inoculation,  than  the  undying  lust  of  intoxicating  liquor  in  cer 
tain  constitutions,  after  the  alcoholic  poison  has  been  received  into 
the  stomach.  Proceed  with  your  story,  if  you  please." 

"  Before  a  twelvemonth  had  gone  by,"  continued  the  old  man, 
"  it  was  plain  enough  that  some  of  our  neighbors  began  to  think  my 
father  and  mother  both  drank  quite  as  much  gin  as  was  good  for 
their  health.  They  were  kind-hearted  people,  and  could  not  resist 
the  temptation  to  do  good,  by  recommending  to  others,  as  a  medi 
cine,  the  very  thing,  which  had  been  of  so  much  advantage  to  them 
selves  ;  and,  as  they  were  well  known  to  be  honest  and  sincere,  the 
influence  of  their  advice  and  example  was  very  considerable  in  our 
village.  My  father  seemed  to  be  well  aware,  that  there  was  some 
hazard  in  the  employment  of  strong  liquor.  I  have  often  heard  him 
say,  very  gravely,  when  he  was  raising  the  glass  to  his  lips,  '  It  is 
only  as  a  medicine,  Ethan,  you  must  remember.'  My  mother  once 
told  me,  that  she  was  very  much  afraid  father  was  getting  into  the 
habit  of  taking  too  much  gin.  I  mentioned  this  to  my  oldest  sister, 
Jerusha.  She  said  it  was  odd  enough,  that  mother  should  say  so,  for 
father  had  expressed  the  same  fear  about  her.  When  I  mentioned 
this  to  my  other  sister,  Nabby,  she  said  Jerusha  would  do  well  to  hold 
her  tongue,  for  it  was  well  known,  that  she  had  lost  Squire  Brattle- 
banks,  who  was  courting  her,  and  left  her  on  account  of  the  smell 
of  her  breath.  I  told  my  brother  Ebenezer,  that  I  was  really  afraid 
we  WDre  getting  into  a  bad  way.  He  flew  into  a  rage,  and  said  it 
was  enough  for  him  to  have  one  lecture  from  Deacon  Tobey,  that 
morning,  about  drinking  gin,  and  he  was  not  a  going-  to  have 
another  one  from  a  younger  brother.  I  then  began  to  think  very 
seriously,  that  our  family  was  getting  a  bad  reputation;  and  I 
resolved  to  lay  my  fears  before  our  clergyman,  who  was  an  excellent 
man.  I  went  to  see  him,  the  next  morning,  at  his  house,  and  met 
him  on  the  way.  '  Ethan,'  said  he,  '  I  am  truly  glad  to  meet  you, 
for  I  have  been  desirous  of  seeing  you  by  yourself,  that  1  might 
have  a  little  talk  with  you.  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  fre 
quently  seen  in  Mr.  Joslyn's  store,  drinking  gin.'  "  —  "Old  Parson 
Mosely  always  had  a  grudge  agin  me,"  said  Joslyn,  "  as  long  as  I 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  217 

lived  in  that  town,  and  you  know  it.  Will  you  pretend  to  say, 
Daddy  Greely,  that  you  han't  heered  him  speak  o'  me  and  my  shop 
in  an  unginrous  manner?"  —  "He  did  use  rather  strong  language 
sometimes,  I  allow,"  replied  the  old  man.  —  "  Yes,  yes,"  said  the 
landlord,  "  Ise  heered  o'  his  talk ;  he  used  to  call  me  hard  names  , 
I  've  heered  on  it.1'  —  "  I  never  did,"  said  Greely.  —  "  Well,  what 
did  he  say  ?  I  want  to  know,"  said  Joslyn.  —  "  Why,  if  I  remem 
ber  right,"  replied  Greely,  "  he  used  to  say  that  your  store  was  one 
of  the  gates  of  hell,  and  that  Satan  could  not  do  better  for  himself, 
than  by  setting  up  such  dram-shops  in  every  village."  —  "  Well," 
said  Joslyn,  "  he  was  an  old  Orthodox  rascal.  I  could  tell  a  story 
about  him,  if  I  was  a  mind  to."  — "  Mr.  .Joslyn,"  said  Greely, 
"  though  I  've  nothing  to  say  for  myself,  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you 
abuse  so  good  a  man  as  Parson  Mosely.  What  story  can  you  tell 
against  that  good  old  man?"  —  "  None  o'  your  business,"  said  the 
landlord ;  "  I  an't  agoin  to  be  catechized  by  you  neither."  —  "  Did 
you  ever  hear  anything  against  Parson  Mosely,  Mr.  Atherton?" 
inquired  the  old  man. — Atherton  shook  his  head.  —  "Nor  I 
neither,"  said  his  wife.  —  "He  was  a  raal  nice  old  gentleman," 
said  the  man  with  the  asthma,  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
"only  he  was  dreadful  petiklar  about  tobacca.  Whenever  I  met 
him,  with  my  pipe  in  my  mouth,  and  stopped  to  have  a  little  talk 
with  him,  he'd  look  right  up  at  the  weathercock,  and,  knowing  I  'd 
been  a  vige  or  two  to  sea,  he  'd  step  up  to  windward,  and  cry  out, 
1  The  weather-gage,  if  you  please,  Captain  Snakeroot.'  Don't  ye 
remember  how  he  sarved  Parson  Morse,  when  he  come  to  see  him" 
Why,  he  set  a  wash-tub  half  full  o'  sand  for  him  to  spit  in."  —  "  1 
never  knew  but  one  thing  agin  him,"  said  the  woman  with  the 
crutch  ;  "  he  did  n't  seem  to  have  no  bowels  for  poor  folks'  habits, 
and  he  was  so  set  agin  taking  sperret,  that  he  wouldn't  listen  to 
no  kind  o'  poligy  for  it."  —  "  That's  very  true,"  said  old  G/2ely, 
"  and  it  would  have  been  better  for  us  both,  if  we  had  taken  his  good 
advice." — "  Please  to  speak  for  yourself,  Greely,"  said  she,  with 
evident  displeasure  ;  "I  don't  calk'late  to  take  more  than  's  good 
for  me,  and  only  as  a  medsun."  —  "I  calculated  just  so  myself, 
once,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  but  you  all  know  where  my  calcula 
tions  have  brought  me."  —  "Come,  my  friend,"  said  the  physi 
cian,  "  I  am  afraid  we  are  losing  the  thread  of  your  story,  and  1 
have  a  desire  to  hear  it  to  the  close." 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  when  Parson  Mosely  spoke 
to  me  of  my  own  habit,  I  was  so  confounded,  that  I  hadn:t  the 
heart  to  say  a  word  about  the  family.  He  talked  to  me  till  he  mado 
me  shed  tears.  I  did  n't  come  to  your  shop  for  a  fortnight  after 

TOL     II.  19 


218  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

that.  Mother  saw  that  something-  was  the  matter  with  me,  and 
advised  me  to  take  a  little  spirit;  and,  so  strong  was  my  appetite 
even  then,  that,  notwithstanding  the  earnest  counsel  that  Parson 
Mosely  had  given  me,  I  very  readily  followed  her  advice,  and  took 
a  dram.  On  the  plea  of  ill-health,  my  father  neglected  his  farm, 
and  on  the  same  plea,  he  continued  to  drink  spirit,  as  a  medicine, 
increasing  the  dose,  as  his  malady  became  more  troublesome  ;  so 
that,  for  several  months  before  he  died,  he  did  little  else  than  stay 
at  home  and  drink  gin. 

"A  circumstance  took  place  in  our  family,  that  produced  the  first 
quarrel  that  I  ever  heard  of  between  my  father  and  mother.  I 
remember  well,  for  I  used  to  read  my  Bible,  when  I  was  young,  the 
first  quarrel  after  the  flood  was  produced  by  intoxicating  liquor. 
My  father  all  along  appeared  to  be  unconscious,  that  he  was  drink 
ing  more  than  was  good  for  him ;  my  mother  was  equally  blind  in 
regard  to  herself;  yet  each  of  them  had,  for  some  time,  become 
anxious  in  respect  to  the  other.  My  father  had  gone  so  far,  as  to 
request  Parson  Mosely  to  have  a  conversation  with  my  mother,  upon 
the  evil  consequences  of  taking  too  much  spirit.  But  it  seerns  she 
had  made  the  first  more,  having  already  called  on  the  parson,  and 
suggested  her  fears  respecting  her  husband's  habit.  Accordingly 
Parson  Mosely  invited  them  both  to  his  house  at  the  same  time, 
without  letting  either  of  them  know,  that  he  had  invited  the  other. 
They  felt  rather  awkwardly,  no  doubt,  when  he  opened  the  matter, 
and  told  them,  as  he  did,  that,  as  each  of  them  had  complained  of 
the  other,  he  thought  it  would  save  time  and  trouble  to  see  them 
together,  and  hear  what  each  one  had  to  say.  When  they  got  home, 
there  was  a  very  unpleasant  fending  and  proving,  and  a  good  deal 
of  ill  humor,  that  lasted  several  days.  For  two  or  three  weeks 
there  was  less  gin  drunk  in  our  house.  After  that  time,  we  got 
into  the  old  track  again  pretty  much. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  trespassing  on  your  patience."  —  "Not  at 
all,"  said  the  physician.  —  "  Well,  sir,  I  '11  tell  you  the  upshot  in 
as  few  words  as  I  can.  My  mother  died  of  cramp  in  the  stomach, 
and  my  father's  death  was  said  to  be  produced  by  the  malady 
for  which  the  doctor  had  prescribed  gin  as  a  medicine.  I  certainly 
believe,  if  they  had  lived  a  year  or  two  longer,  that  one,  if  not  both 
of  them,  would  have  been  sadly  intemperate  people.  When  my 
father  died,  we  all  supposed  that  he  had  left  us  a  little  property,  the 
homestead  at  least.  But  it  was  not  so,  Mr.  Joslyn,  was  it?"  — 
"You  want  me,  I  s'pose,"  said  the  landlord,  "to  save  ye  the 
trouble  o'  tellin  that  I  had  a  morgige  on  't.  S'pose  I  had.  I  come 
by  it  honestly.  'T  wa&  a  great  loss  to  me  arter  all.  I  did  n't  git 


AS  A  MEDICINE. 

my  hull  pay  by  over  twenty-three  dollars,  ye  see."  —  "  Don't  you 
remember,"  said  the  old  man,  "long  after  the  date  of  that  mort 
gage,  of  which  I  knew  nothing,  till  father  was  dead  —  don't  you 
remember  Gould  the  sexton  said  one  day,  in  your  shop,  that  the 
Greely  folks  drank  more  gin  than  all  the  rest  of  the  parish,  and  that 
you  replied,  in  my  hearing,  '  The  old  gentleman  's  rich,  and  can 
well  afford  it;'  don't  you  remember  that,  Mr.  Joslyn?" —  "Don't 
b'lieve  I  ever  said  any  sich  thing,"  replied  the  landlord.  —  "  Well, 
sir,"  continued  the  old  man,  addressing  the  physician,  "my  two 
brothers  and  one  sister  are  dead ;  they  were  all  three  intemperate. 
My  youngest  sister,  Nabby,  was  intemperate  also,  and  parted  from 
her  husband.  He  is  dead.  She,  when  I  last  heard  of  her,  was 
living  in  Vermont;  she  had  reformed,  and  was  a  member  of  the 
temperance  society.  After  my  father  had  been  dead  about  three 
years,  I  got  married.  My  wife  had  a  little  property,  and  we  bought 
a  small  farm,  near  the  bend  of  the  river  as  you  enter  the  town  of 

.     You  remember  our  little  place,  Mr.  Atherton."  —  "To 

be  sure,"  he  replied  ;  "  don't  you  remember  that  row  o'  russetings 
that  you  sot  out,  Daddy  Greely,  by  the  side  of  the  ferry  road?"  — 
"O  yes."  said  the  old  man.  —  "I  passed  there  last  month,"  con 
tinued  Atherton,  "  and  I  never  see  such  apples  in  all  my  born  days." 
—  "I  took  a  deal  of  pains  with  those  trees,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and 
I  thought  we  should  have  eaten  the  fruit  of  them  sooner  or  later, 
Polly,  but  we  never  did."  —  The  poor  old  woman  plucked'a  rag 
from  her  pocket,  and  put  it  to  her  eyes.  —  "Rouse  yourself,  my 
friend,"  said  the  physician,  clapping  the  old  man  upon  his  shoulder; 
"  shake  off  this  accursed  habit,  and  by  God's  blessing,  you  may  yet 
eat  of  the  fruit  of  those  very  trees."  —  "Ah,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  I 
fear  you  do  not  rightly  understand  the  force  of  this  horrible  habit. 
If  a  thousand  good  resolutions  could  have  cured  me,  I  should  have 
been  a  freeman  years  ago,  instead  of  the  slave  that  I  am.  After  I 
was  married,  I  did  abstain  entirely  for  nearly  a  year.  You  remem 
ber  how  I  began  again,  Mr.  Joslyn ;  you  remember  that  training 
day,  and  how  you  bantered  me  about  my  unwillingness  to  treat  my 
platoon,  when  I  was  made  a  sergeant  of  our  company."  —  "  No,  I 
don't,"  he  replied.  —  "  I  do,"  said  Atherton  ;  "  and  Jeems  Larra- 
bee,  the  butcher,  your  wife's  brother,  said  he  'd  rather  a  gin  a  prime 
beef  than  you  should  a  bruk  into  that  are  ice  agin."  —  "  'Twas  an 
awful  bad  move  for  me,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  and  I've  never  been 
able  to  conquer  the  habit  from  that  time.  I  kept  liquor  in  my  house, 
after  that  time,  so  long  as  I  had  one ;  my  wife  fell  into  the  same 
habit,  and  much  in  the  same  manner  that  my  mother  had  done.  We 
had  two  boys.  They  followed  the  example  of  their  parents.  Both 


220  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

became  intemperate.  One  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  and 
whether  the  other  is  living-  or  dead,  we  do  not  know.  I  have  been 
in  the  poor-house,  and  out  of  it,  and  in  again ;  and  almost  every 
thing  that  befalls  intemperate  people,  but  death  and  distraction,  has 
happened  to  us.  Before  my  father  was  led  to  have  spirit  in  the 
house,  as  a  medicine,  I  do  not  believe  there  was  a  more  temperate, 
or  a  happier  family  in  the  state.  When  I  reflect  upon  the  destruction 
it  has  brought  upon  us  all,  father,  mother,  brothers,  sisters,  wife, 
children,  —  that  first  phial  of  gin  comes  up  in  my  thoughts  like  a 
phial  of  wrath,  that  has  been  poured  out  upon  our  heads." 

"  And  pray  tell  me,"  said  the  physician,  —  "  you  seem  so  rational 
a  man  that  I  seriously  ask  you  the  question,  —  why  not  become  at 
once  a  member  of  the  temperance  society,  gather  up  the  wreck 
of  your  fallen  respectability,  and  resolve,  though  you  may  not 
have  many  years  to  live,  at  least  to  die  a  reformed  old  man?"  — 
"  Because,  sir,"  he  replied,  with  an  expression  of  sincere  mortifi 
cation,  "  I  am  sure  I  could  not  keep  my  pledge,  and  I  do  not  wish  to 
make  myself  more  contemptible  than  I  am."  —  "If  you  had  a  house 
of  your  own,"  said  the  physician,  "  could  you  not  put  such  a 
restraint  upon  yourself,  as  to  resolve  that  you  would  have  no  spirit 
under  your  own  roof?"  —  "Yes,  sir,  I  rather  think  I  could," 
replied  the  old  man.  "  I  told  you  I  abstained  for  nearly  a  year  after 
my  marriage.  I  had  not  a  drop  of  spirit  in  my  house,  during  that 
period  ;  and,  when  I  recommenced  drinking,  it  was  not  at  my  own 
house,  but,  as  I  have  said,  at  Mr.  Joslyn's  shop." —  "Ah,"  cried 
Joslyn,  "  most  all  the  mischief  in  the  way  o'  drinking,  that 's  ever 
happened  in  this  world,  was  done  at  Joslyn's  shop."  —  "Or  at 
some  other,"  said  the  physician.  "  Here  lies  the  whole  mystery," 
continued  he  ;  "  very  few  intemperate  men  are  made  such  at  their 
own  firesides.  Their  wives,  their  little  ones  are  seldom  the 
witnesses  of  the  first,  the  second,  or  the  third  indulgence ;  though 
they  are  so  frequently  the  victims  of  that  sloth  and  ungovernable 
passion,  which  transform  the  intemperate  man  into  an  improvident 
and  abusive  husband,  and  an  apostate  father.  If  these  means 
of  drunkenness  were  no  longer  supplied  at  taverns  and  grog-shops, 
the  number  of  intemperate  persons  would  be  wonderfully  reduced 
Your  history,"  continued  the  physician,  turning  to  the  old  man. 
"presents  a  very  striking  illustration  of  the  dangerous  effect  of 
intoxicating  liquor,  taken  as  a  medicine.  Its  employment  in  this 
manner,  even  by  a  religious  man,  appears  to  have  converted  himself, 
his  wife,  and  his  whole  progeny  into  a  nest  of  hard  drinkers,  and 
to  have  brought  misery  upon  them  all." 

"Yes,"  said  one  of  the  group,  who  had  remained  silent  until 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  221 

now,  "  it 's  pooty  much  finished  up  the  hull  Greely  family,  that  '• 
sartin.  In  the  town  where  I  was  born,  about  forty  miles  into  the 
state  o'  Maine,  there  was  sothin  droll  happened  jest  in  this  way 
Old  Miss  Norcross  had  an  awful  sore  mouth.  She  was  a  raal,  ravin 
temperance  woman  as  ever  you  see.  Whenever  she  come  alongside 
o'  anybody,  she  didn't  care-  who  'twas,  had  been  a  drinkin  spirit, 
she  'd  turn  her  nose  right  up,  kind  o'  signifying  as  how  she  smelt 
him,  and  wasn't  agreeable  to  it.  She  used  to  brag  how  she  never 
took  the  vally  of  a  spunful,  in  all  her  born  days.  She  was  presi 
dent  of  the  female  oxillry  tittottle  abstnunce  in  our  town,  till  she 
bio  wed  up,  jist  as  I  'm  a  goin  to  tell  ye.  She  sent  for  Dr.  Mes- 
sarvy,  to  git  her  mouth  cured,  right  off,  as  she  'd  got  to  read  a  long 
report  afore  the  female  tittottlers,  in  two  or  three  days,  and  her 
mouth  was  so  sore  she  could  scace  speak.  So  Dr.  Messarvy  told 
her  to  wash  't  six  times  a  day  with  new  rum.  She  said  she  'd  no 
idee  on  't.  They  was  a  hull  forenoon  a  argyin  the  matter.  But, 
when  she  found,  that  nothin  else  would  do,  and  the  day  was  getting 
nigh  that  she  was  to  read  the  report,  she  o'en  sent  out  and  got  a 
pint  o'  rum  to  wash  her  mouth.  I  was  in  Job  Trull's  shop,  when 
her  little  nigger  come  in  for  it.  The  shop  was  chuck  full,  for  'twas 
a  muster  day ;  and,  when  he  ax'd  for  a  pint  o'  rum  for  Miss  Norcross, 
sich  a  shoutin  and  thumpin  o'  sticks  and  feet  you  never  heer'd  in 
your  life.  They  kicked  up  sich  a  confounded  dust  in  Job's  shop, 
that  you  couldn't  see  acrost.  Some  talked  o'  carrin  over  the 
artillery  to  fire  a  salute  in  honor  o'  Miss  Norcross,  right  under  her 
winder ;  and  there  was  no  eend  to  their  jokes  about  it.  Howsom- 
eever,  I  '11  tell  ye  the  upshot.  She  got  the  rum,  and  washed 
her  mouth,  as  the  doctor  told  her  to,  six  times  a  day  ;  and,  when  he 
kirn  agin,  Jinnison,  their  hired  man,  kim  a  runnin  out  with  his  eyes 
as  big  as  summer  squashes  in  a  favorable  season,  and  he  cries  out, 
says  he,  '  Life  on  me !  Doctor  Messarvy,  Miss  Norcross  is  drunk 
as  sure  as  a  shovel!' — 'I  want  to  know?'  says  Dr.  Messarvy. 
Well,'  says  Jinnison,  'jest  come  in  and  see  for  yourself.'  So, 
sure  enough,  she  was,  and  't  was  a  dreadful  disappointment  to  the 
tittottlers,  as  'twas  the  day  o'  their  meetin.  When  the  doctor 
ax'd  her  next  day,  arter  she  kim  to,  how  in  the  name  o'  natur  it 
happened,  — '  I  swallyd  it,'  says  she  ;  '  you  never  told  me  not  to.' 
But  that  wasn't  the  worst  on 't  by  u  great  chalk.  She  see  she 
did  n't  know  how  good  't  was,  and  arter  she  'd  got  a  taste,  she 
did  n't  know  when  to  leave  off.  She  got  to  be  intemperate,  and  'a 
been  so  ever  since." — This  brief  narrative  was  followed  by  such 
peals  of  laugiiter  as  have  seldom  been  heard  among  the  mountains ; 
VOL.  n.  19* 


222  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

and,  once  more,  I  looked  upon  the  poor  man  with  the  asthma,  mar 
velling  at  his  ability  to  endure  such  a  convulsive  trial. 

"  I  reckon,"  said  the  man  with  the  asthma,  "  it's  the  natur  o' 
wimmjn  to  git  overtook  that  are  way,  when  they 's  a  nussin.  They 
git  a  notion,  that  they  want  sothen  to  strengthen  'em.  I  've  known 
a  number  that 's  got  to  be  raal  topers,  that  way,  takin  sperret  as  a 
medsen  like.  Let  me  see,"  continued  he,  counting  on  his  fingers, 
—  "  there  's  no  less  than  seven  in  our  town,  that 's  got  to  be  right 
down  intemprit,  sinca  they 's  had  young  ones,  that  was  correct 
afore,  as  far  as  ever  I  see.  There 's  Molly  Gleason,  and  Sukey 
Farrer,  and  Babbit  the  tanner's  wife."  —  "Massy,"  cried  Mrs. 
Atherton,  "  how  you  talk !"  —  "  Yes,  she  's  corned  half  the  time," 
said  the  man  with  the  asthma.  —  "I  wish,  my  sowl,  I  could  see 
her,"  said  the  woman  with  the  crutch ;  "  she  and  I  was  as  thick  as 
could  be  afore  she  was  married.  I  should  like  to  try  and  persuade 
her  to  give  up  sich  a  dreadful  habit  o'  takin  more  than  was  good  for 
her.  What  a  pity  'tis !"  —  "  There  's  Priscy  Meeks,  the  squire's 
wife,"  continued  the  man  with  the  asthma,  "  she  's  as  bad  as  any 
on  'em :  Betty  Merri wether,  that  lives  there 's  told  my  wife,  she  's 
seen  Priscy  fifty  times  sippin  o'  sugar  and  gin,  and  drawlin  out  a 
sort  of  a  lullaby  to  quiet  her  young  one,  till  she  'd  fairly  sung 
herself  to  sleep  instead  of  her  baby.  Crissy  Snivel,  the  tailor's 
wife,  got  a  goin  as  bad  as  any  on  'em;  but  Snivel 's  pooty  much 
bruk  her  on  it.  Ye  see  he  put  a  metic  in  't.  She  was  upon  gin 
then.  So  she  went  to  Merrick's  shop,  and  told  him  his  gin  didn't 
agree  with  her,  and  got  some  bra'ndy.  Snivel  watched  her  motions, 
and  she  'd  no  sooner  got  it  into  the  house,  than,  unbeknown  to  her, 
he  pat  a  metic  into  that.  So  she  went  to  Merrick  agin,  and  told 
him  his  brandy  sarved  her  jest  as  bad  as  the  gin  did.  So  she  got  a 
little  Jimaky ;  and  'twas  n't  in  the  house  half  a  hour  afore  Snivel 
had  a  metic  in  that  too.  She  got,  that  way,  to  think  sperret 
wasn't  jest  the  thing  for  her  stomach,  but  she  never  suspected  the 
leastest  thing  about  the  metic.  About  a  month  arter,  a  dozen 
wimmin,  maybe  more,  kim  to  spend  the  art'noon  at  Miss  Snivel's 
house.  So  ye  see,  as  she  had  the  good  stuff  by  her,  and  could  n't 
make  no  use  on  't  herself,  on  account  of  her  petiklar  weak  stomach, 
and  as  most  on  'em  was  ailin  somehow,  and  took  a  leetle  now  and 
then,  as  a  medsen,  she  treated  'em  all,  and  was  as  liberal  with  it, 
as  if  'twas  o'  no  more  vally  than  rain-water.  Some  on  'em  took 
gin,  and  some  on  'em  took  brandy,  and  some  on  'em  took  Jimaky. 
But  did  n't  make  a  mite  o'  differ  which  'twas  they  took.  It  sot  'em 
%  chatterin  like  all  possessed  for  about  half  an  hour.  Then,  one 
liter  another,  tl  ey  began  to  feel  a  leetle  squally ;  and,  at  last,  they 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  223 

got  a  goin  every  one  on  'em.  Sich  a  time  Snivel  says  he  never 
heer'd  tell  on.  He  was  a  workin  in  his  shop  at  the  beginnin  on 't. 
So,  when  he  heer'd  the  first  noise,  he  peeped  through  the  kev-hole, 
and  he  said  he  thought  he  should  'a  died  a  laughing.  So  he  ran 
back  into  the  shop,  for  fear  they  should  suspect  sothin,  and  he  fell 
to  work  cuttin  out  a  pair  o'  rigimental  smalls  for  Gineral  Tweezer  ; 
but  he  laughed  so,  that  he  spoilt  the  breeches,  and  cut  'em,  by 
mistake,  arter  Parson  Dearin's  measure,  so  that  the  jineral  could  n't 
'a  got  into  'em  at  no  rate  arter  they  was  made  up ;  and  bein  of  a 
bright  yaller,  they  would  n't  'a  bin  the  thing  for  a  minister  no  how. 
So,  ye  see,  'twas  a  totle  loss.  But  the  eend  o'  the  joke  wasn't 
like  to  come  out  so  pleasant.  Several  on  'em  had  a  narrer  squeak 
or  it,  and  old  Miss  Hawks  eenamost  wrenched  herself  to  death. 
But  the  best  o'  the  hull  I  'm  agoin  to  tell  ye.  Not  a  soul  on  'em 
ever  suspected  the  leastest  trick ;  and  Merrick  got  sich  a  bad  name 
for  selling  liquor  that  wasn't  ginivine,  that  he  lost  a'most  all  his 
custom  in  our  town  arter  that.  Snivel  got  confoundedly  scat,  for, 
arter  a  while,  he  thought  'twas  sich  a  good  story  he  couldn't  keep 
it  to  himself  no  how ;  so  he  told  it  round  to  one  and  another,  and  at 
last  it  got  to  Squire  Pronk's  ears,  and  the  Squire  told  Snivel,  that, 
if  old  Miss  Hawks,  who  was  ailin  a  long  spell,  should  happen  to 
pop  off  afore  the  year  was  out,  't  would  be  manslarter,  as  sure  as 
fate.  Howsomesever,  the  old  woman's  a  livin  yet;  but  she  han't 
taken  a  drop  sence  that  day.  A  number  on  'em  has  n't.  So  good  's 
come  out  on  't  arter  all.  I  reckon  there  's  a  good  many  folks,  that 
don't  like  the  name  o'  takin  sperret,  now  the  Temprance  Society 
has  got  sich  head-way,  and  yet  they  like  a  drop  well  enough  too , 
so  I  reckon  they  gets  ailin,  and  sends  for  the  doctor  a  purpose." 

"  There  is  something  in  what  you  say,"  said  the  physician 
"  and  a  doctor  who  carries  the  principles  of  temperance  into  his 
practice,  will  sometimes  find  himself  extremely  unpopular  with  his 
patients. — The  storm  continues  to  rage  without,  and  I  see  no 
prospect  of  its  abatement.  I  will  tell  you  a  story,  which  occurred 
within  my  own  knowledge.  The  subject  of  this  narrative  was  well 
known  to  me,  and,  when  you  have  heard  it,  you  will  doubtless 
perceive  that  I  have  a  practical  reason  for  my  fears,  in  relation  to 
the  use  of  intoxicating  liquor  as  a  medicine. 

"  About  twenty  years  ago,  I  practised,  as  a  physician,  in  a  family 
residing  on  the  borders  of  a  pleasant  village,  about  five-and-twenty 
miles  from  the  metropolis  of  New  England.  In  my  estimation  of 
such  matters,  they  were  the  wealthiest  people  in  that  village ;  and 
yet  they  lived  almost  from  hand  to  mouth,  to  use  a  phrase  suffi 
ciently  well  understood  by  some  of  us,  no  doubt.  Their  name  was 


224  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

Sanderson.  This  family  consisted  of  the  father  and  mother,  both 
far  advanced  in  years,  a  son  at  that  time  nineteen  yeare  of  age,  and 
a  daughter,  three  years  younger,  who  had  been  a  cripple  from  her 
birth.  They  had  tenanted,  for  many  years,  a  small  estate,  scarcely 
extensive  enough  to  be  called  a  farm. — It  did  not  exceed  three 
acres.  —  yet  it  was  often  said,  that  the  Sandersons,  by  their  skill 
and  unremitting  industry,  had  commonly  a  better  crop  from  their 
three  acres  than  Farmer  Stetson,  a  laz;y  and  intemperate  man,  had 
ever  gathered  from  his  farm,  adjoining  theirs,  which  comprised  full 
thirty  acres  of  first-rate  land.  The  mother  had  been  an  invalid  for 
very  many  years;  and  the  daughter,  who,  as  I  have  told  you,  was  a 
cripple,  had  never  been  able  to  perform  any  species  of  housework. 
The  whole  burden  of  supporting  this  family  devolved  of  course 
upon  old  Sanderson  and  his  son  Peter.  Peter  Sanderson,  however, 
was  an  uncommon  young  man.  He  was,  by  common  admission, 
the  smartest,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  one  individual  at  least,  the 
handsomest  lad  in  the  village.  He  had  been,  for  years,  the  success 
ful  suitor  of  Fanny  Weston,  a  very  pretty  girl,  whose  parents  were 
dead,  and  who  resided  with  a  connection  of  her  father's,  in  that  sort 
of  ambiguous  position,  so  common  in  our  country  towns,  neither 
precisely  relative  nor  help.  Neither  Peter  Sanderson  nor  Fanny 
Weston  had  the  slightest  recollection  of  having  fallen  in  love  with 
each  other.  Their  love,  like  the  conversion  of  pious  persons  not  a 
few,  had  not  been  of  immediate  and  instantaneous  production,  but 
the  result  of  a  more  dilatory  process  —  the  work  of  time.  Their 
love  was  the  natural  consequence  of  ten  thousand  kind  offices  from 
childhood  to  maturity.  They  were  born  near  each  other ;  upon 
their  way  to  the  village  school,  and  upon  their  return  home,  they 
were  continually  thrown  together.  In  the  winter,  Peter  was  always 
ready  to  drag  Fanny  on  his  sled  ;  and  when  Fanny  begged  two 
summer  sweetings  of  her  father,  one  of  them,  sooner  or  later,  came 
into  the  possession  of  Peter  Sanderson.  As  they  grew  older,  this 
gentle  commerce  of  the  affections  went  gradually  forward.  Every 
species  of  traffic  hath  its  tokens,  and  pond  lilies  and  sprigs  of  fennel 
were  frequently  exchanged  for  the  sweetest  smiles  and  the  earliest 
roses.  This  era  of  innocent,  and,  to  the  parties  themselves,  almost 
unintelligible  love,  had  long  passed  away.  They  were,  in  good 
time,  betrothed  to  each  other,  with  the  approbation  of  their  friends, 
and  were  looking  forward  to  the  day,  when  Peter  should  attain 
the  age  of  twenty-one,  as  the  day  of  their  marriage. 

"  I  have  said,  that  the  Sandersons  were  the  richest  people  in  our 
village,  notwithstanding  they  were  dependent  upon  the  sweat  of 
their  brows  for  their  daily  bread  ;  but  it  was  the  bread  of  cheerful- 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  225 

ness,  honestly  obtained  and  gratefully  partaken.  They  were  §ur- 
rbunded  by  wealthier  neighbors,  in  the  parlance  of  the  world  ;  but 
they  themselves  were  preeminently  in  possession  of  that,  which  the 
world  can  neither  give  nor  take  away,  peace  of  mind  —  contentment 
with  the  allotments  of  Providence.  I  have  never  witnessed  a  more 
interesting  family.  The  old  man  has  often  told  me,  that,  from  the 
period  when  he  was  first  married,  and  commenced,  under  his  own 
roof,  that  practice  of  family  prayer,  which  he  had  adopted  after  the 
example  of  his  own  parents,  he  had  never  supplicated  Heaven  for 
any  other  riches,  than  such  as  he  could  carry  with  him  to  another 
and  a  better  world.  He  had  prayed,  that  he  might  be  permitted  to 
bring  up  his  children  in  the  love  of  virtue,  and  the  fear  of  God. 
'  You  see,'  said  this  old  man  to  me,  '  you  see  how  mercifully  the 
Lord  has  answered  my  prayer.  He  has  continued  my  health,  and 
with  the  assistance  of  my  son,  I  have  been  enabled  to  pay  my  rent, 
and  to  lay  by  a  trifle,  from  year  to  year,  which  may  be  of  use  to  me, 
when  I  can  toil  no  longer.  I  have  perfect  confidence  that  Gcd  will 
not  forsake  me  in  my  old  age.  I  have  ever  feared,'  said  this  good 
old  man,  '  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  resist  the  temptation  of  great 
worldly  riches,  and,  while  God  has  given  me  enough,  yet,  as  he 
knows  whereof  I  am  made,  he  hath  given  me  no  more.  He  hath 
not  led  me  into  that  very  temptation,  by  which  I  have  ever  been 
persuaded,  that  I  should  most  easily  be  overthrown.' 

"  The  unruffled  calm  that  reigned  in  their  dwelling  had  become  a 
proverb.  I  do  not  believe,  that  any  human  being  ever  heard  a  bois 
terous  word  or  an  unkind  expression  beneath  their  roof.  It  seemed 
to  be  the  constant  study  of  every  member  of  the  family  to  contribute, 
as  far  as  possible,  to  the  happiness  of  all  the  rest. 

"  A  French  archbishop,  upon  a  visit  to  a  poor  curate,  was  sur 
prised  at  the  very  expensive  repast,  prepared  for  him  by  so  poor  a 
man.  He  chid  the  curate  for  his  extravagance,  and  inquired,  by 
what  means  he  could  consistently  spread  such  a  table.  The  poor 
man  replied,  in  his  defence,  that  he  was  desirous  of  testifying  his 
tespect  for  the  archbishop,  and  assured  him,  that  he  could  well 
afford  the  charge,  for  he  kept  bees.  He  then  conducted  the  arch-' 
iishop  into  an  extensive  apiary,  or  establishment  for  bees.  He 
«adily  explained,  that  the  pasturage  of  these  flying  herds  cost  him 
*othing  ;  that  the  time,  devoted  to  the  care  of  the  whole  establish 
ment,  was  nothing  more  than  a  reasonable  amount  abstracted  for 
fec/eation  after  the  spiritual  care  of  his  flock ;  and  that  the  profit 
was  very  considerable.  After  this  visit,  whenever  the  archbishop 
encoantered  any  of  his  curates,  who  complained  of  their  poverty,  he 
gave  his  counsel,  in  two  brief  words.  '  Keep  bees.1  I  will  now  give 


226  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

you  the  applicttion  of  this  short  story :  Whenever  the  good  old 
clergyman  of  our  village  was  compelled  to  listen  to  the  bickerings 
between  husbands  and  wives,  he  would  bid  them  learn  a  lesson  of 
the  Sandersons.  Whenever  he  heard  any  of  his  parishioners  repin 
ing  at  the  scanty  allotments  of  Providence,  he  would  bid  them  look 
at  old  Sanderson.  Whenever  he  visited  any  one,  who,  if  I  may 
use  the  expression,  was  moving  upon  the  railway  to  the  drunkard's 
grave,  just  entering,  perhaps,  upon  the  track  at  a  moderate  rate,  and 
who  believed,  that  he  could  not  shoe  an  ox,  or  sit  cross-legged  on  a 
tailor's  bench,  or  use  a  jack-plane,  or  turn  a  furrow,  without  a  daily 
allowance  of  intoxicating  liquor,  he  bade  him  think  of  old  Sander 
son.  Whether  his  parishioners  were  disposed,  or  not,  to  govern 
their  motions  accordingly,  old  Sanderson  had  certainly,  in  a  moral 
and  a  spiritual  sense,  become  the  fuglar  of  the  parish. 

"  Peter  Sanderson  had  nearly  attained  the  age  of  one-andrtwenty 
yoars,  when  an  accident  befell  him  in  the  course  of  his  agricultural 
employment,  which  threatened  to  deprive  his  old  father  of  his  ser 
vices,  for  a  considerable  period.  As  he  was  standing,  barefooted, 
upon  the  barn-floor,  a  pitchfork  fell  perpendicularly  from  the  hay 
mow,  and  one  of  the  prongs  passed  entirely  through  his  foot,  between 
the  upper  bones  of  the  great  and  second  toe,  causing  such  severe 
pain,  that  he  fainted  almost  immediately.  His  old  father,  who  was 
near  at  hand,  with  the  assistance  of  a  neighbor,  removed  him  to  the 
house,  and  placed  him  on  his  bed.  I  was  sent  for,  and  being  en 
gaged  from  home,  I  did  not  arrive  until  the  afternoon,  about  four 
hours  after  the  accident.  I  found  a  very  considerable  amount  of 
inflammation,  accompanied  with  sharp,  shooting  pains,  extending  to 
the  knee.  Very  little  blood  had  flowed  from  the  wound.  I  directed 
him  to  make  use  of  such  applications  as  are  commonly  employed  in 
such  cases.  Upon  my  visit  the  next  day,  I  found  the  pain  and 
inflammation  were  greatly  abated,  and  I  looked  forward  to  a  speedy 
cure.  I  did  not  visit  him  again  for  the  space  of  four  or  five  days. 
During  my  absence,  three  elderly  females  of  the  parish  had  visited 
my  patient,  held  a  consultation  upon  his  case,  and  put  him  upon  an 
entirely  different  course.  When  I  visited  him  again,  his  appearance 
was  materially  altered.  Swelling  and  inflammation  had  returned, 
and  his  symptoms  indicated  the  approach  of  *  regular  fever.  One 
of  these  philanthropic  practitioners  had  persuaded  poor  Peter  San 
derson,  that  I  had  kept  him  too  low,  and  prevailed  upon  him  to  take 
a  little  roast  pork  ;  another  had  advised  him  to  keep  his  foot  and 
leg  continually  soaked  in  New  England  rum  ;  and  a  third  was  actu 
ally  engaged,  at  the  very  moment  of  my  arrival,  in  preparing  half  a 
mug  of  toddy  to  keep  up  the  sp'rits  of  the  invalid  The  first  and 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  2JJ7 

the  last  of  these  prescriptions  I  forbade,  in  the  most  peremptory 
manner.  But  these  three  old  ladies,  and  even  Sanderson  and  his 
wife,  were  so  entirely  satisfied  of  the  efficacy  of  New  England  rum 
as  an  external  application  in  such  cases,  that  I  gave  my  consent  to 
its  employment  in  this  manner,  though  well  enough  persuaded,  that 
it  was  in  no  respect  essential  to  his  cure.  The  foot  and  leg  were 
now  so  much  inflamed,  that  I  readily  foresaw  we  might  not  be  able 
to  effect  a  cure,  before  weeks  ind  perhaps  months  should  have 
passed  away. 

'  I  was,  unfortunately,  correct  in  my  opinion.  At  the  expiration 
of  three  months,  the  foot  and  ieg  were  in  a  much  worse  condition 
than  when  I  was  first  called  in  ;  and  the  patient  seemed  to  be  labor 
ing  under  the  effect  of  a  slow  fever,  for  the  removal  of  which  my 
very  best  efforts  appeared  to  be  ineffectual.  During  this  period  the 
old  man's  health  appeared  to  be  exceedingly  good  ;  and,  with  such 
assistance  as  the  affection  and  respect  of  his  neighbors  induced  them 
to  afford  him  from  time  to  time,  he  continued  to  conduct  the  affairs 
of  his  little  farm,  as  successfully  as  ever.  He  often  said  to  me,  that 
it  seemed  as  though  the  Lord  had  renewed  his  youth,  and  given  him 
strength  for  the  emergency  ;  and  he  doubted  not,  that,  in  good  time, 
Peter  would  be  restored  to  him  again. 

"  About  this  period  old  Sanderson's  wife  was  taken  suddenly  ill, 
and  died  of  an  affection  of  the  heart.  The  old  man  bore  this  afflic 
tion  apparently  with  Christian  resignation.  '  Whether  I  consider 
the  past  or  the  future,'  said  he  to  me,  on  the  day  after  the  funeral, 
'  I  have  reason  for  gratitude  to  God.  —  Tabitha  and  I  have  lived 
long  and  most  happily  together,  and  I  feel  that  we  shall  meet  ere 
long  in  a  better  world.' 

"  From  time  to  time,  as  I  visited  at  the  house,  I  thought  I  observed 
that  the  old  gentleman's  spirits  were  failing:  indeed  he  appeared  so 
exceedingly  dejected  upon  certain  occasions,  that  I  began  to  appre 
hend  his  prediction,  in  relation  to  himself,  would  ere  long  be  verified. 
For  many  weeks,  I  knew  not  how  to  reconcile  his  apparent  melan 
choly  with  that  Christian  resignation  to  the  will  of  God,  which  he 
always  professed  to  feel,  whenever  the  late  bereavement  became  a 
topi?  of  conversation  between  us.  In  a  conference  with  our  good 
clergyman,  he  suggested  his  opinion,  that  the  old  man's  spirits  were 
depressed  in  consequence  of  the  long-continued  illness  of  his  son  ; 
and,  with  this  impression,  I,  one  day,  adverting  to  this  affliction, 
inquired  of  him  if  he  found  it  a  more  difficult  task  to  bear  God's 
dealings  upon  the  present  occasion,  than  upon  the  former.  He  burst 
into  tears  ;  and,  when  he  had  in  some  measure  regained  his  self 
m  — '  Doctor,'  said  he,  '  if"  it  were  God's  will,  that  I  should 


228  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

oury  my  son  in  a  shameless  grave,  instead  of  following  the  common 
order  of  nature  and  goisg  before  him,  I  could  bow  submissively  to 
God's  holy  will  ;  but  rny  heart  is  full  of  anguish,'  said  he,  with  deep 
emotion,  '  when  I  contemplate  the  bare  possibility  of  my  son's  be 
coming  an  intemperate  man.'  A  multitude  of  little  circumstances 
immediately  occurred  to  my  recollection,  and  I  was  surprised,  that 
I  had  never  combined  them  before,  in  this  connection.  I  perceived, 
that  there  was  something  to  apprehend,  although,  when  I  reflected 
upon  the  manner  in  which  Peter  had  been  brought  up  by  his  parents, 
I  could  scarcely  suppose,  that  this  excellent  young  man  would  be 
numbered  among  the  victims  of  this  modern  Juggernaut.  I  entered, 
at  once,  very  freely  and  fully  into  the  subject  of  the  old  man's  fears. 
Peter  had  been  now,  for  a  long  time,  confined  to  his  chamber;  and 
with  very  little  occupation,  beside  the  care  of  his  wounded  limb. 
New  England  rum,  which  had  been  thought  necessary  for  the  pur 
pose  of  bathing  his  foot  and  leg,  had  been  ever  in  his  apartment. 
His  hands,  his  bed-clothes,  his  apparel,  and  every  part  of  his  room 
were  constantly  filled  with  the  aroma.  The  jug —  the  false  god  — 
had  been  ever  at  his  elbow,  and  the  poor  votary,  at  last,  had  fallen 
down  and  worshipped  with  his  lips.  A  very  natural  inquiry  may 
be  made,  in  the  present  case,  whether  poor  Peter's  relish  for  intoxi 
cating  liquor  did  or  did  not  arise  in  the  sense  of  smelling.  I  have 
heard  a  reformed  drunkard  declare,  that,  under  the  obligation  of  his 
pledge,  he  was  abundantly  able  to  resist  the  importunities  of  his 
associates,  when  they  urged  him  to  take  a  dram,  yet  he  had  been 
well  nigh  overthrown,  upon  more  than  one  occasion,  in  his  efforts 
to  keep  his  good  resolution,  by  the  smell  of  their  breath. 

"  Whatever  might  have  been  the  philosophy,  it  was  too  manifest, 
that  no  doubt  remained  in  relation  to  the  fact.  Un watched,  unre 
stricted,  utterly  without  employment,  this  unfortunate  young  man 
had  evidently  contracted  a  fatal  relish  for  intoxicating  drink,  or,  to 
use  your  own  very  forcible  and  accurate  expression,  Mr.  Joslyn,  he 
had  become  inoculated;  and  the  passion  for  liquor  had  made  a  pro 
digious  head-way,  before  I  had  any  suspicion  of  its  existence.  It 
had,  in  a  very  brief  space,  wrought  so  effectually  upon  his  r/aturally 
amiable  temper  and  good  feelings,  that  my  earnest  exp(/stulations 
were  manifestly  productive  of  very  little  effect. 

"  I  expressly  forbade  even  the  external  employment  of  spirit  any 
longer,  and  accordingly  it  was  laid  aside.  About  a  fortnight  after 
this  prohibition,  though  his  wound  had  degenerated  into  a  fever- 
eore,  which  rendered  exercise  exceedingly  painful,  he  actually 
walked  two  miles  to  the  dram-shop,  for  the  gratification  of  this  ter 
rible  appetite,  and  returned  home  evidently  under  tke  influence  of 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  229 

liquor.  I  have  never  witnessed  a  more  rapid  declension  from  this 
common  cause  of  mischief  and  misery.  Beer,  cider,  and  every  other 
means,  for  producing-  the  wished-for  stimulus,  were  resorted  to  by 
this  infatuated  young  man.  In  the  course  of  six  months  he  had 
become  an  emaciated  cripple,  the  very  reverse  of  the  hale,  robust, 
young  farmer  that  he  was,  before  this  unfortunate  employment  of 
spirit  as  a  medicine.  The  effect  of  this  domestic  calamity  upon  old 
Sanderson  was  very  apparent.  His  spirits  were  now  entirely 
broken,  and  he  looked  forward  to  a  speedy  termination  of  his  earthly 
career  Whenever  I  urged,  as  an  argument,  the  unhappiriess, 
which  he  had  caused  his  father,  Peter  would  shed  tears  very  freely ; 
and  I  generally  found,  that,  upon  all  such  occasions,  he  contrived 
shortly  after  to  soothe  his  own  sorrow  with  a  dram. 

"  For  some  time  after  it  had  become  matter  of  almost  universal 
i.otoriety,  that  Peter  Sanderson  was  an  intemperate  man,  there 
remained  one  determined  unbeliever  in  the  parish  —  Fanny  Weston 
—  poor  Fanny  Weston,  who  never  did  anything  by  halves,  and  who 
had  given  Peter  Sanderson  her  whole  heart,  when  it  was  as  pure 
and  confiding  as  youth  and  innocence  could  make  it.  All  sorts  of 
hints  and  innuendoes,  the  promptings  alike  of  malice  and  of  charity, 
were  utterly  lost  upon  Fanny.  Peter  himself —  and  he  loved  her 
better  than  any  earthly  thing,  excepting  his  jug  —  was  extremely 
careful,  while  under  the  influence  of  its  contents,  never  to  cross  her 
path ;  and  she  herself,  taking  counsel  of  her  fond  hopes,  settled 
down  into  the  firm  conviction,  that  the  world  was  full  of  tale-bear 
ers,  and  that  Peter  Sanderson  was,  beyond  all  doubt,  a  much  injured 
man.  Ignorant,  perhaps,  of  the  fact,  that  there  are  pale  drunkards 
as  well  as  red  ones,  she  constantly  referred  to  his  appearance  in  this 
respect,  as  a  refutation  of  the  slander.  When  any  one  referred  to 
his  staggering  gait,  she  readily  accounted  for  that,  by  referring  to 
the  wound,  which  had  disabled  him  from  walking  as  uprightly  as 
formerly.  When  some  importunate  friend  called  her  attention  to 
his  breath,  she  repelled  the  suggestion,  by  saying  that  it  was  noth 
ing  but  the  spirit  upon  his  hands  or  apparel,  and  that  he  had  used 
it  as  a  medicine.  Poor  girl !  Her  attachment  was  certainly  wor 
thy  of  a  better  object.  Among  those,  who  were  willing  to  save  her 
from  casting  herself  away  upon  a  worthless  young  man,  I  myself 
oelieved  that  I  had  a  duty  to  perform.  I  therefore  gave  her  my 
opinion  very  frankly,  but  without  producing  any  other  effect  than  a 
feeling  of  displeasure  toward  myself.  The  very  strength  of  this 
attachment,  placed  as  it  was  upon  an  object  so  entirely  undeserving, 
impelled  me  the  more  eagerly  to  find  means  for  convincing  this  inter 
esting  girl  of  her  mistake,  before  she  should  become  irretrievably 

VOL.  ii.  20 


230  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

lost.  I  did  not  press  my  opinion  and  my  counsel  at  that  time  ;  but 
a  month  had  not  elapsed  before  a  suitable  opportunity  presented 
itself,  for  the  execution  of  my  plan,  which,  although  it  may  seem 
harsh,  at  first  view,  was  adopted  with  a  conviction,  that  nothing  less 
efficacious  would  produce  the  intended  result.  There  was  a  militia 
muster  in  our  village,  and,  in  the  afternoon,  I  called  in  my  chaise  at 
the  house,  where  Fanny  Weston  resided  ;  and,  as  she  had  not  been 
well,  I  invited  her  to  take  a  short  ride  with  me  and  look  at  the  sol 
diers.  I  drove  to  a  part  of  the  field,  where,  a  short  time  before,  I 
had  seen  Peter  Sanderson  in  a  state  of  intoxication.  As  we  drew 
near  the  spot,  our  attention  was  attracted  by  the  shouts  of  some  men 
and  boys,  who  were  amusing  themselves  with  the  absurd  behavior 
of  a  drunken  man.  I  drove  directly  to  the  spot.  A  single  glance 
was  enough  — '  Good  Heaven  !'  she  exclaimed,  '  it  is  Peter  Sander 
son  !'  —  The  poor  girl  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  — 1  immediately 
turned  away  from  the  spot,  and  we  rode  home  without  uttering  a 
syllable  to  each  other. 

"  Fanny  Weston  was  really  an  excellent  young  woman,  and  those 
holy  principles,  which  had  formed  so  essential  a  part  of  her  simple, 
though  substantial  education,  proved  to  her  a  sufficient  life-boat 
amid  these  troubled  waters.  This  painful  experiment  resulted  pre 
cisely  as  I  wished.  She  sent  a  message  to  Peter  Sanderson,  the 
very  next  day,  by  a  confidential  friend,  informing  him  of  her  decis 
ion,  that  he  must  think  of  her  no  more.  He  earnestly  entreated, 
that  she  would  meet  him  once  again.  To  this  she  agreed,  upon 
condition  that  their  interview  should  be  in  the  presence  of  a  single 
witness.  They  met,  and  poor  Peter  was  greatly  abashed,  when  he 
found  she  had  selected  our  excellent  clergyman.  The  good  old  man 
assured  me  he  never  was  more  affected  in  his  life.  She  told  the 
poor  fellow,  that,  notwithstanding  his  misconduct,  she  freely  con 
fessed  her  weakness,  that  she  loved  him  tenderly  as  the  playmate 
of  her  early  years,  and  as  one,  with  whom  she  had  expected  to  be, 
connected  by  the  most  tender  of  all  human  ties ;  but  that  she  had 
not  the  courage  to  tempt  the  vengeance  of  Heaven,  by  embarking 
upon  the  voyage  of  life  with  an  intemperate  man ;  that  she  had 
gathered,  with  her  own  eyes,  the  evidence  of  his  evil  habit ;  and 
that  he  must  now  think  of  her  no  more.  He  shed  tears  very  freely, 
confessed  his  errors,  and  promised  amendment,  if  she  would  permit 
him  to  centime  his  visits.  '  It  will  be  of  no  service  to  you,  Peter,' 
said  she,  '  and  it  will  make  me,  if  possible,  more  wretched  than  I 
am  to  see  you  any  more,  unless  you  entirely  reform.'  She  gave 
utterance  to  nothing  more  but  a  last  farewell  and  a  flood  of  bittei 
Uwra. 


AS  A  MEDICINE  231 

**  Here  was  much  human  suffering  produced  by  the  employment 
of  spirit,  as  a  medicine  ;  and  I  resolved,  at  that  time,  to  make  no 
use  of  it  whatever,  unless  in  cases  of  unavoidable  necessity,  if  such, 
in  my  sober  judgment,  should  ever  occur. 

"  Upon  the  occasion,  to  which  I  have  referred,  Peter  Sanderson 
assured  our  good  clergyman,  in  the  most  solemn  manner,  that  he 
would  never  take  another  drop.  About  a  week  from  that  time,  he 
was  brought  home  drunk  to  his  father's  house.  About  three 
months  after  this  occurrence,  old  Sanderson  paid  the  debt  of  nature, 
upon  which  occasion  Peter  wept  very  fluently,  and  renewed  all  his 
vows  of  amendment.  In  less  than  three  days,  his  tears  were  dried 
up,  and  his  vows  again  were  broken.  In  addition  to  his  nalural 
anxiety  in  relation  to  the  miserable  prospects  of  this  intemperate  son, 
old  Sanderson  expressed  to  me  his  solicitude  respecting  his  daugh 
ter,  whom  I  mentioned  before,  and  who  was  altogether  helpless. 
Farmer  Blaney  was  sitting  at  his  bed-side,  and,  taking  the  hand  of 
his  dying  friend  in  his  own, '  I  should  be  loath,'  said  he,  *  to  see  the 
righteous  man  forsaken,  or  his  seed  begging  bread.'  It  was  enough. 
Farmer  Blaney  was  not  a  man  of  idle  words.  A  faint  smile  beamed 
upon  the  features  of  old  Sanderson  ;  and,  after  his  decease,  his  crip 
pled  daughter  was  taken  home  by  the  worthy  farmer,  and  has  lived 
under  his  hospitable  roof  to  the  present  day.  Old  Sanderson  left 
just  enough  to  square  his  accounts  with  the  present  world.  '  He 
would  have  left  much  more,'  said  our  worthy  clergyman,  '  if  he  had 
not  been  so  very  desirous  of  laying  up  treasure  in  heaven.' 

"  After  the  death  of  old  Sanderson,  the  landlord  took  possession 
of  the  little  farm,  and  the  path  now  seemed  to  be  open  between 
Peter  and  the  poor-house.  He  was,  or  conceived  himself  to  be. 
unable  to  work,  and  his  habit  of  intemperance  increased  upon  him 
daily.  He  became  a  most  miserable  sot,  and  was,  in  due  time,  cat 
alogued  among  the  town's  poor.  Unfortunately,  it  was  the  practice 

in  the  village  of ,  at  the  period  to  which  I  refer,  to  furnish  a 

certain  quantity  of  ardent  spirit  to  the  inmates  of  the  poor-house, 
upon  a  supposition,  whose  absurdity  is  now  thoroughly  understood, 
that  it  was  essential  for  the  preservation  of  their  health  and  strength. 
Of  course  the  tippler's  habit  continued  unbroken.  The  relish 
for  liquor  remained,  ready  to  break  forth  in  unlimited  indulgence, 
upon  the  very  first  convenient  opportunity.  The  intemperate 
man  had  therefore  no  chance,  after  a  period  of  total  abstinence, 
whether  voluntary  or  otherwise,  of  taking  a  new  departure  for  the 
voyage  of  life.  Peter  Sandersdh's  constitution  was  naturally  a  good 
one,  and  he  always  grew  better,  upon  that  limitation  in  the  measure 
and  frequency  of  his  drams,  enjoined  in  such  establishments,  for  tin 


23S  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

government  of  paupers  ;  and  yet,  as  I  have  already  said,  he  never 
had  an  opportunity  of  conquering  the  habit  entirely,  becaus^  -he 
daily  allowance,  however  comparatively  small,  was  quite  enough  io 
perpetuate  the  passion  for  strong  drink.  Three  or  four  times,  dur 
ing  the  very  long  period  of  degradation,  through  which  he  has 
passed,  he  has  so  far  recovered  his  strength  and  decent  appearance, 
that,  upon  his  earnest  request,  he  has  been  permitted  to  come  forth 
into  the  world,  and  support  himself  by  his  own  labor.  Before  many 
weeks,  however,  he  has  fallen  into  his  former  courses ;  and,  after 
repeated  instances  of  grovelling  drunkenness,  has  been  again  com 
mitted  to  the  poor-house.  The  very  same  result  has  been  produced, 
in  ten  thousand  examples,  and  will  continue  to  be  produced,  so  long 
as  temperance  is  accounted  a  task  of  easier  performance  than  total 
abstinence.  In  many  of  our  poor-houses,  at  the  present  day,  a  dif 
ferent  system  is  adopted.  By  the  enforcement  of  total  abstinence 
upon  their  inmates,  these  establishments  have  become,  wherever  that 
principle  is  adopted,  not  only  receptacles  for  paupers,  but  asylums 
for  the  intemperate.  Under  the  discipline  of  the  regular  physician, 
the  curative  process  consists  in  nothing  more  than  a  sufficient  supply 
of  good,  wholesome  food,  and  an  entire  privation  of  the  means  of 
drunkenness  in  every  form.  Occasionally,  in  extreme  cases,  seda 
tives  may  be  employed,  to  allay  that  irritation  of  the  stomach,  which 
almost  universally  occurs,  when  the  long-accustomed  stimulus  is 
wiihholden.  This  painful  trial  is  not,  however,  of  long  duration, 
and  the  hankering  after  intoxicating  liquor  finally  wears  itself  away. 
The  patient  has  then  an  opportunity  of  deciding  for  himself,  with  the 
experience  of  the  past  fairly  before  him,  if  it  be  the  part  of  wisdom, 
to  make  the  miserable  experiment  again ;  and  he  is  able  thus  to  decide, 
unembarrassed  by  the  gnawings  of  that  terrible  appetite,  which  the 
forcible  restraint,  imposed  by  the  regulations  of  the  poor-house,  had 
brought  into  subjection. 

"  Peter  Sanderson,  as  I  have  told  you,  was  in  the  midst  of  his 
miserable  career,  at  a  period  when  this  wholesome  discipline  was 
unknown  in  our  houses  of  refuge  for  the  poor.  The  practice  of  that 
day  served,  just  as  effectually,  to  perpetuate  the  habit  of  intemper 
ance,  as  though  it  had  been  skilfully  contrived  for  the  accomplish 
ment  of  that  very  object.  For  nine  or  ten  years,  he  continued  in 
this  miserable  course  ;  occasionally,  when  in  his  worst  estate,  rather 
resembling  a  travelling  corpse  than  a  living  man ;  and.  now  and 
then,  especially  after  emerging  from  the  poor-house,  upon  promise 
of  amendment,  bearing  some  little  resemblance  to  himself  in  better 
days.  During  this  whole  period,  he  appeared  to  retain  a  sentiment 
of  respect  for  no  human  being,  save  one.  He  treated  the  admonitions 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  233 

of*  oar  good  clergyman  with  contempt ;  and,  whenever  I  made  an 
e.1oit  to  stop  him  on  the  road,  and  converse  with  him,  on  the  sub 
ject  cf  his  abominable  habit,  he  would  frequently  reply  with  inso 
lence,  or  laugh  in  my  face.  But  there  was  one  person,  in  relation 
to  whoiu,  he  appeared,  during  the  period  of  his  lowest  degradation,  to 
cherish  sentiments  of  affection  and  respect.  He  has  been  known, 
when  reeling  along  upon  the  highway,  to  throw  himself  over  the 
wall,  at  the  sight  of  Fanny  Weston,  and  remain  concealed,  until 
she  had  passed  by.  Upon  one  occasion,  when  he  had  been  directed, 
with  a  gang  of  hands  from  the  poor-house,  to  repair  a  portion  of  the 
road  which  lay  in  front  of  the  house,  in  which  Fanny  resided,  he 
earnestly  entreated  the  overseer  to  give  him  employment  elsewhere. 

"  Poor  Fanny's  heart  was  well  nigh  broken  by  this  bitter  disap 
pointment.  After  she  had  composed  her  spirits,  and  was  enabled  to 
look  upon  the  matter  in  a  just  light,  she  thanked  me,  with  many 
tears,  for  my  interposition  in  her  behalf;  and  admitted,  although  the 
process  seemed  harsh  at  the  time,  that  nothing,  short  of  just  such 
testimony  as  she  thus  obtained,  would  probably  have  convinced  her 
of  the  real  truth,  until  her  incredulity  had  produced  her  ruin.  For 
a  long  time,  she  mingled  rarely  with  the  society  of  the  village  ;  she 
lost  her  bloom,  and  gave  some  indications  of  falling  into  a  decline. 
At  length,  although  her  spirits  had  evidently  received  a  shock,  from 
which  they  were  not  likely  to  recover,  she  sought  a  solace  in  the 
performance  of  such  duties,  as  were  ever  consonant  with  her  gentle 
nature.  She  engaged  in  all  the  charitable  and  benevolent  opera 
tions  in  our  village.  She  still  retained  an  unusual  share  of  personal 
beauty;  and,  when  it  was  known,  that  she  had  cast  off  Peter  San 
derson,  more  than  one  of  our  village  swains  made  proposals  of  mar 
riage,  far  more  eligible  in  regard  to  this  world's  goods  and  gear. 
In  a  mild  and  respectful  manner,  she  declined  them  all.  It  was  a 
matter  of  surprise,  that  she  refused  the  addresses  of  Major  Barton, 
one  of  the  likeliest  and  wealthiest  young  farmers  in  our  country. 
After  that,  it  was  taken  for  granted,  that  Fanny  Weston  was 
resolved  to  live  single  and  to  die  so. 

"  It  was  about  ten  years  after  Peter  Sanderson's  first  employment 
of  spirit,  as  a  medicine,  that  the  earliest  efforts  of  the  Temper 
ance  Society  commenced  in  our  village.  The  first  address,  in  our 
parish,  was  delivered  by  an  individual,  who  had  himself  been  an 
intemperate  man.  In  the  most  simple  language,  and  in  a  manner 
irresistible,  from  the  fact  that  every  word  proceeded  from  the 
speaker's  heart,  and  was  the  voice  of  experience,  this  honest  and 
earnest  advocate  recited  his  own  impressive  history.  He  spoke 
with  deep  feeling  of  his  early  religious  education,  of  the  formation 

VOL.  ii.  20* 


234  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

of  his  habit,  of  the  unhappiness,  which  he  had  inflicted  upon  his  old 
father  and  mother,  of  his  degraded  and  profligate  career,  of  his 
reformation  by  the  process  of  total  abstinence,  and  of  his  return  to 
the  paths  of  respectability  and  usefulness.  Peter  Sanderson  had 
been  carried  to  the  meeting  by  a  rum-seller,  in  the  hope  and  expec 
tation  of  producing  some  disturbance,  and  interrupting  the  speaker. 
But  the  rum-seller  had  reason  to  exclaim,  upon  that  occasion,  that 
God's  ways  are  not  as  our  pays.  Some  well-directed  shaft  passed 
through  the  sinner's  heart.  He  sat  in  such  a  position,  that  I  had  a 
perfect  view  of  his  features.  When  the  speaker  feelingly  alluded 
to  his  own  religious  education,  and  to  the  misery,  which  he  had 
caused  his  own  respectable  parents,  Peter  Sanderson  wept  like  a 
child.  Verily,  thought  I,  there  is  a  worm  that  never  dies  !  After 
the  speaker  had  concluded,  those,  who  were  disposed  to  sign  the 
pledge,  were  requested  to  remain.  Among  the  number  I  was 
delighted  to  observe  poor  Peter,  though  evidently  with  some  irreso 
lution  in  his  manner,  approaching  the  table.  One  and  another 
placed  their  names  upon  the  roll ;  —  the  pen  was  handed  to  Peter ; 
—  he  took  it  with  considerable  hesitation.  —  'Do  you  think,  sir,' 
said  he,  '  it  will  enable  me  to  give  it  up?'  —  'There  is  no  doubt  of 
it,'  replied  the  lecturer;  'it  has  been  my  salvation,  and,  by  God's 
help,  it  will  be  yours.'  —  At  that  moment,  I  heard  the  rum-seller's 
voice  calling  Sanderson  from  the  door-way  of  the  church.  — '  Think 
of  your  good  old  father,'  said  I,  in  a  whisper.  It  had  the  desired 
effect ;  he  bent  over  the  table,  and  with  a  steadier  hand  than  I  had 
given  him  the  credit  for  possessing,  he  subscribed  the  temperance 
pledge.  It  excited  a  mingled  feeling  of  pleasure  and  surprise,  in 
the  minds  of  several,  who  were  present  upon  that  occasion,  that, 
while  Peter  Sanderson  was  the  last  of  forty-seven,  who  had  joined 
the  society  that  evening,  the  very  first  name  upon  the  roll  should  be 
that  of  Fanny  Weston. 

"  There  were  not  a  few,  who  gave  poor  Peter  credit  for  having 
undertaken,  upon  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  much  more  than  he 
was  likely  to  perform.  I  happened  to  be  near  him,  when,  upon 
leaving  the  meeting-house,  he  mingled  with  his  associates  at  the 
door.  — '  What  a  confounded  fool  you  are!'  said  one.  —  'Didn't 
think  you  'd  get  cotch'd  with  their  priestcraft  so  easy,'  said  another.— 
'  So  you  've  sign'd  away  your  liberty,  Peter,'  said  a  third.  — '  How 
iong  d'ye  think  ye '11  stick  to 't,  Sanderson?'  said  a  fourth.  —  'I 
don't  reckon  cold  water  '11  suit  sich  a  kind  o'  stomach  as  yours  is, 
Peter,  I  don't  raaly,'  said  a  fifth.  —  'Come,  Peter,'  said  the  rum- 
seller,  '  if  you  '11  jest  go  back  and  take  oflf  your  name  like  a  man, 
off  o  that  are  ridic'lous  paper,  I  '11  give  ye  a  quart  o'  the  very  be* 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  336 

in  my  store,  for  nothin.'  —  Peter  stood  still,  without  saying  a  word. 
— «  Come,  come  along,'  cried  the  rum-seller  ;  *  I  '11  go  in  with  ye, 
Peter.'  —  I  felt  quite  uncertain  as  to  the  result,  until  the  poor  fel 
low,  mustering  up  the  sum-total  of  his  resolution,  stamped  his  foot 
upon  the  steps  of  the  meeting-house,  and,  putting  his  mouth  close 
to  the  rum-seller's  ear,  roared  out  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  '  I  tell  ye  I 
won't.'  —  'Then,'  cried  the  rum-seller,  'I'll  sue  ye  for  what  ye 
owe  me  to-morrow !'  —  *  Sue  away,'  said  Peter  ;  '  it 's  better  to  go 
to  jail,  than  to  go  the  devil,  over  your  threshold  ;  —  so  good  night, 
Mr.  Gilpin.'  The  poor  fellow  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  walked  off 
at  a  round  pace.  He  was  not  aware  that  I  was  near  him,  at  the 
time,  and  overheard  this  conversation.  I  resolved  to  have  an  eye 
upon  his  movements.  I  observed  a  per«on  moving  towards  him  in 
the  dark,  wno  presently  took  him  by  the  arm,  and,  leading  him 
aside,  appeared  to  be  conversing  with  him  in  an  earnest  manner. 
Suspecting  that  some  one  of  his  associates  was  endeavoring  to 
divert  him  from  his  plan  of  amendment,  I  walked  directly  towards 
them.  I  was  most  agreeably  surprised  to  find,  in  the  person,  whom 
J  had  supposed  to  be  an  evil  counsellor,  one  of  the  worthiest  of  our 
citizens,  who  had  himself  joined  the  society  that  evening.  '  There 
is  nothing,  doctor,'  said  he,  '  which  I  may  not  say  in  your  hearing ; 
you  know  I  own  the  little  farm,  upon  which  our  old  friend  Sander 
son  lived  so  long.  I  have  just  told  Peter,  that  if  he  is  really  in 
earnest,  and  will  keep  his  promise,  he  is  as  well  able  to  manage  it 
as  any  man,  and  that  he  may  take  it  on  the  same  terms,  upon  which 
I  leased  it  to  his  father  for  so  many  years,  and  that  I  will  loan  him  a 
small  sum  to  set  him  forward  ;  but  that,  as  all  things  are  uncertain, 
he  must  first  give  us  some  good  reason  to  believe  him  sincere.  I 
tell  him,  therefore,  that  he  may  come  and  work  for  me  for  six 
months,  and  I  '11  allow  him  fair  wages ;  and  if  Gilpin  sues  him,  as 
he  threatens  to,  1  '11  see  to  it.'  — «  Well,  Peter,'  said  I,  '  what  do 
you  say  to  Farmer  Mason's  liberal  offer?'  —  Peter  made  no  reply 
for  some  time,  and,  when  I  repeated  the  question,  —  *  I  '11  come 
sir,'  he  replied  in  a  low  voice.  '  Very  well,'  said  Farmer  Mason, 
and  bade  us  good  night.  '  Peter.'  said  I,  '  why  did  you  not  thank 
him  for  his  kind  offer?'  — '  Bless  your  heart,  doctor,'  cried  the  poor 
felbw,  '  why,  I  could  n't  speak ;  I  didn't  think  he  'd  trust  me  with 
an  old  shovel.' 

"  Gilpin  kept  his  word,  and  the  sheriff,  who  had  a  writ  for  Peter, 
before  breakfast  on  the  following  morning,  was  surprised,  after  an 
ineffectual  search  in  all  his  accustomed  haunts,  to  find  him  busily 
at  work  among  the  hired  men  at  Farmer  Mason's.  The  worthy 
farmer  became  Peter's  bail,  and  requested  the  sheriff  to  inform  Gil- 


2S6  AS  A  MEDICINE. 

pin,  who  was  his  tenant,  that,  being  himself  now  a  member  of  th« 
Temperance  Society,  he  could  lease  his  tenement  no  longer  to  a 
dealer  in  intoxicating  liquor. 

"  The  six  probationary  months  had  passed  away.  Peter  Sander 
son  had  not  only  kept  his  promise  most  faithfully,  but  he  had  recov 
ered  his  health,  strength,  and  good  looks,  in  a  surprising  degree. — 
But  I  perceive,"  said  the  physician,  "  that  the  storm  is  passing  off 
and,  as  we  shall  probably  separate  ere  long,  I  will  bring  my  little 
narrative  to  a  close.  Farmer  Mason  performed  his  promise,  and 
Peter  was  now  reinstated  upon  the  farm,  where  every  rood  of 
ground  was  full  of  the  associations  of  his  early  days.  You  will 
scarcely  suppose,  that  Fanny  Weston  was  an  unconcerned  spectator 
of  this  extraordinary  change  —  this  moral  resurrection.  When 
she  first  saw  Peter  Sanderson,  after  his  reformation,  decently  clad, 
and  with  a  countenance  already  free  from  those  marks  and  numbers, 
which  so  commonly  belong  to  the  votaries  of  intemperance,  the 
shock  was  more  than  she  could  bear.  The  poor  girl  was  obliged  to 
quit  the  meeting-house  and  return  home.  They  had  both,  in  earlier 
times,  belonged  to  the  village  choir.  After  Peter,  by  his  good  con 
duct,  had  won  back  the  respect  and  confidence  of  his  old  associates, 
they  invited  him  to  resume  his  former  station  among  them.  When 
he  accepted  the  invitation,  Fanny  found  it  convenient  to  occupy  a 
seat  in  her  pew.  Those,  who  knew  her  least,  imputed  this  act  to 
an  unwillingness  to  continue  among  the  choir  in  company  with 
Peter  Sanderson. — They  were  mistaken. 

"  One  day,  —  it  was  rather  more  than  a  year  after  Peter's  refor 
mation, —  she  was  sitting  at  her  needle-work,  in  company  with  the 
connection,  in  whose  house  she  resided,  — '  I  wonder,'  said  she,  '  if 
Peter  Sanderson  ever  thinks  of  me  now  ?'  —  I  happened  to  enter  the 
room  at  that  moment,  and  her  aunt,  with  an  intelligent  smile, 
repeated  the  question  in  my  hearing.  '  Fanny,'  said  I,  '  I  am  in 
clined  to  think  he  does.  I  have  heard  him  say,  that  he  had  not 
the  courage  to  come  and  see  you,  but  that  he  would  cheerfully 
serve  a  longer  term  for  you  than  Jacob  served  for  Rachel.' — The 
poor  girl  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  while  the  tears  flowed  freely 
between  her  fingers.  'Fanny,'  said  I,  'I  have  been  unwilling  to 
*.ell  you  this,  until  I  had  good  reason  to  believe,  that  Peter's  refor 
mation  v  as  perfectly  sincere  ;  and  until  I  had  ascertained  something 
of  your  own  feelings  in  regard,  to  him.  Shall  I  tell  him  that  he 
may  venture  to  come  here?'  She  turned  her  eyes  toward  me  with 
a  faint  smile,  and  cast  them  on  the  ground." 

"  Mister,"  said  the  man  with  the  asthma,  "  that  are  story 's  raal 
natur.  — I  want  to  hear  the  eend  on 't,  but  the  sun  's  a  comin  out 


AS  A  MEDICINE.  237 

•ver  the  mountains,  and  I  must  be  jogging  along.  '  —  "I  will  bring 
it  to  a  close,"  said  the  physician.  "  Peter  Sanderson  and  Fanny 
Weston  met  once  more.  They  renewed  their  vows.  —  In  due  time 
they  were  married  ;  and  I  know  not  the  wedded  pair,  who  have 
enjoyed  a  larger  share  of  happiness,  than  has  fallen  to  their  lot,  for 
the  period  of  seven  years.  Let  us  not,  however,  forget  that  ten 
years  of  their  existence  had  been  rendered  miserable  by  the  employ 
ment  of  intoxicating  liquor,  as  a  medicine,  which,  for  one  that  it  may 
possibly  have  cured,  has  killed  its  thousands."  —  "  No,  no,"  cried 
the  ma;i  with  the  asthma,  "  don't  let 's  forgit  that — if  't  wan't  for 
my  asthma,  I  'd  leave  it  off,  sartin.  Won't  ye  put  the  bits  in  my 
mare's  mouth,  Mr.  Joslyn?"  —  "If  't wan't  for  my  cold  stomach, 
I  'd  leave  it  off  too,"  said  Atherton.  —  "  Well,"  said  Joslyn,  "  I  'd 
leave  off  the  traffic  in  a  minnit,  if  folks  wouldn't  buy  no  more  on  't." 
—  "I  've  heer'd  Squire  Pronk  say,"  said  one  of  the  group,  "  that 
he'd  leave  it  off,  if  Miss  Pronk  would."  —  "Yes,"  said  another, 
"  and  I  've  heer'n  Miss  Pronk  say,  she  'd  leave  it  off,  if  the  squire 
would."  —  "  Well,  now,"  cried  the  woman  with  the  crutch,  "  that 
story  's  enough  for  me.  I  'd  leave  off  spirit  now,  right  away,  if 
't  wan't  for  my  leg." 

The  company  now  began  to  disperse ;  and,  having  obtained  the 
good  doctor's  permission  to  present  this  temperance  tale  to  the  pub 
lie,  I  replaced  my  family  in  the  carriage,  and,  taking  a  last  glance  of 
the  lofty  peaks  of  Agiocochook,  now  once  more  illuminated  by  the 
sun,  we  directed  our  course  toward  the  valley.  About  ten  miles 
upon  our  way,  we  overtook  the  itinerant  pupil  of  M 'Clyster  and 
Son,  the  pharmacopoly  pedler,  laboring  onward  under  his  burden  of 
merchandise.  "  It 's  the  puttekerry  jontleman  fro'  Waterford," 
cried  Thomas,  as  we  drew  near  to  him.  I  hailed  him  from  the 
coach-window,  and  advised  him  to  give  up  his  present  business,  and 
turn  honest  man.  He  said  nothing,  until  the  carriage  had  begun  to 
descend  the  hill,  when  he  made  a  reply,  which  I  could  not  under 
stand.  "What  does  the  pedler  say?"  I  inquired.  "He  says, 
your  honor,"  cried  Thomas,  "that  it's  not  the  like  o'  yoursilf 
that  '11  bate  him  oot  o'  the  idee  that  it 's  not  the  hist  thing  in  the 
warld,  as  a  midicine.  Now,  if  your  honor's  agraable  to  it,"  con 
tinued  Thomas,  reining  up  his  horses  as  he  spoke,  "  I  '11  jist  be 
after  bating  it  oot  o'  the  felly  mysilf."  —  "Drive  on,  honest 
Thomas,"  said  I.  —  Crack  went  the  whip,  and  the  pedler  was  soon 
^ar  behind. 


THE  PROPHETS! 

WHERE    ARE   THEY' 


Tin  following:  brief  narrative  might  well  enough  be  tubmitted  without  any  prefatory  remark. 
A  few  words  may  suffice.  As  there  is  no  species  of  intoxicating  beverage  which  baa  not  produced 
»  uch  drunkenness  upon  the  earth,  there  can  be  no  perfect  work  of  reformation,  upon  any  otk*f 
principle  than  that  of  total  abstinence  ;  and  with  this  perfectly  intelligible  principle  before  us,  few 
tilings  can  appear  more  amusing  than  the  self  complacent  wine-drink ei  t  predictions  of  the  mm- 
drinker'*  ruin.  We  have  heart  the  inveterate  sipper  of  anisette  foretell  the  destruction  of  the 
gu-zHr  of  beer;  who,  in  his  turn,  has  prognosticated  the  very  same  fate  for  some  thirsty  neighborsj 
whose  potations  of  cider  were  neither  few  nor  far  between.  Such  prophecies  are  not  uncommon  — 
they  are  not  unfrequently  fulfilled  —  and  the  parties  concerned  are  occasionally  members  of  temptr- 
aace  societies  of  the  old  rigime. 


THE  husbandman,  who  gathers  the  burden  of  his  threshing-floor 
too  hastily  into  his  garner,  may  be  expected  to  collect  the  wheat 
and  a  portion  of  the  chaff  together.  That  desertion  from  the 
temperance  ranks,  which  the  friends  of  this  holy  cause  are  not 
unfrequently  called  to  lament,  arises,  in  part,  from  an  inconsiderate 
zeal  for  numerical  display.  It  was  the  fashion,  rather  more  a  few 
years  since  than  it  is  at  present,  to  rate  the  powers  and  the  profit 
ableness  of  an  advocate  in  this  Christian  enterprise,  by  the  number 
of  signatures,  which  he  had  obtained  to  the  temperance  pledge ;  just 
as  we  estimate  the  valor  of  an  Indian  brave  by  the  number  of  his 
scalps.  Not,  many  years  ago,  a  single  individual  is  reported  to  have 
obtained  no  less  than  ten  thousand  signatures  in  a  single  city,  —  the 
product  of  a  few  weeks'  labor.  But,  after  no  slight  examination  of 
the  matter,  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  that  the  evaporation  of  a  large 
proportion  of  this  temperance  host  may  be  well  compared  to  the 
disappearance  of  Xenophon's  ten  thousand  from  the  plains  of 
Ounaxa. 

The  great  end  in  view  is  the  production  of  a  change  in  public 
sentiment.  This  is  the  work  of  years  —  the  result  of  a  steadily 
continued  process  of  moral  indoctrination.  The  pledge  is  an  instru 
ment  of  infinite  importance  in  the  temperance  cause ;  but  it  may 
will  be  doubted,  if  it  should  ever  be  givsn  cr  received,  in  a  moment 
ol  excitement.  It  is  surely  a  solemn  obligation.  The  premise  is 
ordinarily  made  in  the  presence  of  a  large  assembly,  and  in  the  house 
of  God.  It  is  not  my  design  to  institute  a  comparison  between  the 
temperance  pledge  and  the  eucharistal  obligation ;  but  there  is 


240  THE  PROPHETS!   WHERE  ARE  THET? 

enough  of  analogy,  inasmuch  as  both  are  solemn  bonds,  to  authorize 
a  single  interrogatory  —  Should  we  approve  the  wisdom  of  a  clergy 
man,  who,  having  preached  an  exhortation  to  his  people  to  join  the 
church,  immediately  after  closing  his  notes,  and  while  the  congre 
gation  were  under  high  excitement,  despatched  his  agents  with  pen, 
ink,  and  paper  for  their  signatures.  Upon  all  matters  of  impor 
tance,  judges  take  time  for  deliberation,  and  juries  consult  together. 
If.  the  subject  be  worth  an  elaborate  argument,  time  —  some  four- 
ai  d-twenty  hours  at  least  —  should  in  common  courtesy  be  allowed 
for  reflection,  to  those  who  are  solicited  to  do  an  important  act  —  to 
change  a  habit,  possibly,  of  long  continuance. 

Right  or  wrong,  these  were  the  sentiments  of  Major  Marquee. 
He  was  an  early  friend  of  mine,  until  the  age  of  four-and-twenty. 
We  then  reached  a  fork  in  the  great  highway  of  life ;  the  major 
took  one  branch  of  it,  and  I  another.  He  married  an  interesting 
widow,  some  ten  years  older  than  himself;  and,  as  Captain  McGrath, 
a  brother  officer,  ill-naturedly  remarked,  rather  for  her  gold  than 
her  ivory ;  for,  though  she  brought  him  an  ample  fortune,  she  had 
lost  her  teeth,  or  the  greater  part  of  them.  Having  entered  into 
this  matrimonial  partnership,  Major  Marquee  resigned  his  com 
mission  ;  laid  aside  his  epaulettes,  of  course ;  paid  off  his  old  debts, 
by  his  wife's  particular  desire ;  and,  having  assumed  the  citizen's 
dress,  became  one  of  a  gentlemanly  circle,  who  seemed  to  have 
associated  upon  the  principle,  that  the  chief  end  of  man  is  to  eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry. 

There  is  commonly  nothing  of  real  happiness  in  marriage  &  la 
mode.  The  principal  advantages,  derived  by  the  lady  from  this 
second  connection,  were  the  obligation  to  prepare  an  entertainment 
*br  the  major's  friends,  one  day  in  every  week,  and  to  dine  by  herself 
the  remaining  six.  They  quarrelled,  of  course,  and  with  wonderful 
regularity.  The  major,  however,  was  a  much-enduring  man  ;  and, 
probably  from  a  consideration  of  his  enlarged  means,  and  the  supe 
rior  comforts  of  his  new  condition,  he  still  found  a  balance  in  his 
favor.  This  consideration,  or  some  other  cause,  induced  him  to 
treat  the  partner  of  his  joys  and  sorrows  with  a  commendable  spirit 
of  forbearance.  When  she  railed  at  the  major  for  his  late  hours, 
he  seldom  retorted,  but  commonly  whistled  a  quick  march,  and 
finished  his  bottle  of  Port  or  Madeira;  and  her  curtain  lectures, 
which  never  failed  in  the  evening  and  the  morning,  he  pleasantly 
called  his  tattoo  and  revf.Uk. 

The  major  and  his  lady  were  prevailed  upon  by  some  of  thoii 
neighbors,  whose  caste  in  society  was  considered  a  safe  conduct  for 
the  adventure,  to  attend  a  public  lecture  on  the  subject  ol  temper- 


THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  JRE  THEY?  241 

ance.  At  the  close  of  the  evening,  both  of  them,  to  the  surprise  of 
many  of  their  friends,  subscribed  their  names  to  the  temperance 
pledge.  The  pledge  of  the  society,  of  which  the  major  and  his  lady 
were  thus  constituted  members,  was  the  old-fashioned  pledge,  the 
pledge  of  abstinence  from  ardent  spirits  alone,  —  a  pledge,  whose 
sufficiency  for  the  occasions  of  the  world,  strange  as  it  may  appear 
to  the  philosophical  friends  of  temperance,  remains  undoubted  by 
many  at  the  present  day. 

"  Well,  major,"  said  his  lady,  on  their  way  home,  "  I  am  truly 
rejoiced  that  you  have  joined  the  temperance  society.  It's  a  good 
example  to  our  servants,  you  know,  my  dear ;  I  wonder  if  our  man 
Micajah  was  at  the  lecture?"  —  "  To  be  sure,"  replied  the  major  ; 
"  and  he  signed  the  pledge,  though,  'pon  honor,  I  thought  he  was 
a  little  tipsy.  He  came  up  to  the  table  the  very  moment  he  saw 
me  in  the  act  of  signing ;  and,  after  he  had  scrawled  his  own  name, 
he  took  up  the  inkstand,  by  mistake,  for  the  sandbox,  and  poured 
the  whole  contents  upon  the  paper,  saving  a  small  sprinkling  that 
fell  upon  Doctor  Driver's  inexpressibles,  and  apparently  without 
any  consciousness  of  the  mischief  he  was  doing."  —  "  I  am  really 
apprehensive,  major,"  continued  his  lady,  "  that  Micajah  has  signed 
the  temperance  pledge  without  sufficient  reflection.  It  is  a  thing, 
which  should  not  be  done  rashly,  you  know."  —  "  O,  certainly," 
replied  the  major;  "  but  it  will  cost  Micajah  nothing  :  he  tells  me, 
and  I  believe  him,  that  he  never  takes  anything  stronger  than 
strong  beer  or  porter."  — "  Well,  major,"  rejoined  his  lady,  "it 
may  be  so;  but  he  is  constantly  tipsy,  more  or  less  every  day. 
The  habit  grows  upon  him,  I  am  confident ;  and  I  prophesy  that 
Micajah  will  die  a  drunkard."  —  "Pshaw,  my  dear,"  cried  the 
major;  "so  you  prophesied  that  our  fashionable  friend,  the  young 
widow  in  Burley  Place,  would  die  a  drunkard,  and  she  is  not  dead 
yet."  — "  No,  major,  she  is  not  dead,"  replied  the  lady  ;  "  but  she 
is  a  drunkard."  —  "  Don't  believe  it,  'pon  honor,"  cried  the  major, 
"not  a  word  of  it.  —  She  drinks  nothing  but  Champagne."  — 
"  Very  like,"  said  Mrs.  Marquee ;  "  but  she  drinks  all  the  Cham 
pagne  she  can  get,  and  is  everlastingly  quoting  Dr.  Twaddler's 
opinion,  that  it  is  a  harmless  beverage.  The  other  evening,  when 
she  was  so  far  gone,  as  to  be  utterly  unable  to  get  into  her  carriage 
unassisted,  she  repeated  over,  a  dozen  times,  '  It  helps  nutrition  — 
it's  all  digested ,'  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  those  around  he  .'' 
—  "Well,  that's  a  sound  doctrine,"  rejoined  the  major;  "I'm 
&f  that  opinion  myself."  —  "Your  arrack  punch,  major,"  said  his 
lady,  "you  will  have  to  give  up,  of  course."  —  "  Punch  —  arrack 
punch!"  exclaimed  the  major,  "  not  at  all  —  ey — they  can't  mean 

VOL.  n.  21 


242          THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  ARE  THEY! 

to  include  punch  —  never  thought  of  that,  'hough.  No,  no,  tut 
pledge  extends  only  to  distilled  spirits,  taken  clear,  or  in  water, 
as  grog.  'T  was  never  intended  to  include  punch,  depend  upon  it." 
—  "  Your  bitters  and  juleps  you  will  certainly  relinquish,"  said  the 
lady. — "1  never  thought  of  them  neither,"  said  he  ;  "but  I  can't 
suppose  they  mean  to  cut  off  a  gentleman  from  his  juleps.  No,  no, 
the  whole  design  is  to  check  the  intemperance  of  common  folks  — 
that 's  it,  my  dear,  that 's  it,  and  it 's  well  enough  for  genteel  people 
to  favor  the  cause,  by  joining  the  society.  That 's  the  view  I  take 
of  the  matter.  Think  of  it  a  moment,  and  it  will  strike  you  in  the 
same  light,  my  love  —  don't  you  see  it?  Besides,  my  dear,  if  the 
rule  is  to  be  construed  so  very  strictly,  it  will  be  next  to  an  impossi 
bility  to  meet  one's  friends  upon  the  footing  of  common  civility. 
[  'm  not  sure,  after  all,  that  we  have  acted  quite  as  wisely  as  we 
might  have  done,  in  putting  our  names  so  hastily  to  this  pledge."  — 
"  I  am  rejoiced  that  we  have,"  replied  the  lady;  "  we  shall  have  no 
more  punch  in  the  morning,  and  less  therefore  of  the  company  of 
Colonel  Brunkle,  and  that  noisy  crew  that  is  forever  at  his  heels ; 
the  sacrifice  of  your  bitters  will  cost  you  nothing,  Major  Marquee ; 
and,  as  for  entertaining  our  friends,  we  can  get  along  charmingly 
with  wine  and  cordials,  you  know."  —  "Well  said,"  cried  the 
major;  "you  never  thought  of  your  cordials,  your  noyeau,  and 
your  anisette,  did  you,  my  dear?  ha,  ha! — The  account  is  likely 
to  be  pretty  fairly  balanced,  I  think,  my  dear,  —  ha,  ha,  ha!"  — 
"  Cordials,  my  dear,"  replied  the  lady,  "  were  not  surely  designed 
to  be  included  in  the  temperance  pledge."  —  "And  pray  why  not 
as  much  as  juleps,  my  dear?"  interrogated  the  major;  his  voice 
thickening,  as  it  usually  did,  when  he  was  losing  his  temper. — 
"Why  not,  my  dear?"  retorted  the  lady,  "because  —  because  — 
juleps  are  not  cordials,  to  be  sure.  I  should  think  you  knew  what 
juleps  were,  by  this  time,  my  dear."  —  "Well,  my  dear,"  cried  the 
major,  with  an  elevated  voice,  w  and  if  you  don't  know  what  cordials 
are,  by  this  time,  I  know  not  who  does,  my  dear."  —  "You  had 
better  raise  your  voice  a  little  higher,  that  everybody  in  the  street 
may  hear  you,  my  dear,"  said  the  lady.  —  "I  don't  care  a  fig  if 
they  do,  my  dear,"  cried  the  major,  in  a  still  louder  note.  —  "For 
Heaven's  sake,  don't  disgrace  yourself  in  this  manner,  my  dear," 
i. aid  the  lady ;  "  Farmer  Bockum  and  his  family  are  close  behind  us, 
ind.  deaf  as  he  is,  he  will  surely  overhear  every  word  you  say,  my 
dear."  —  "The  devil  take  Farmer  Bockum!"  cried  the  major,  in  a 
voice  loud  enough  to  change  the  front  of  a  whole  battalion. — 
"  Hush,  my  dear,"  cried  the  lady.  —  "  I  won't,  my  dear,"  cried  th« 
major. 


THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  ARE  THEY?  243 

It  may  have  been  remarked,  by  close  observers  upon  the  matri 
monial  relation,  that,  with  certain  couples,  mated  according  to  law, 
but  miserably  matched,  the  frequent  use  of  words  of  endearment  as 
infallibly  foreruns  a  domestic  squabble,  as  a  day  or  two  of  soft 
weather,  out  of  season,  portend  a  storm.  So  long  as  the  parties, 
whom  we  have  introduced  to  the  reader,  were  contented  to  employ 
towards  each  other  the  formal  appellations,  major  and  madam,  their 
intercourse  was  not  likely  to  assume  a  belligerent  aspect ;  but  the 
more  familiar  epithets,  so  frequently  adopted  on  the  present  occa 
sion,  if  not  actually  weather-breeders,  were,  almost  invariably, 
accompaniments  of  the  tempest. 

The  lady  was  right ;  a  portion  of  the  major's  exclamation  ot>- 
truded  itself  upon  the  ears  of  Farmer  Bockum,  deaf  as  he  was. 
Happily,  he  did  not  catch  that  part  of  the  major's  words,  which  so 
charitably  commended  the  old  farmer  to  the  prince  of  darkness ;  but, 
hearing  his  name  so  vehemently  uttered  in  the  major's  stentorian 
voice,  he  mended  his  pace,  and,  followed  by  his  family,  the  fanner 
was  almost  immediately  at  his  side.  "  What 's  the  matter,  major?" 
he  exclaimed.  The  major's  lady  had  a  good  share  of  self-posses 
sion,  on  such  occasions  ;  and,  believing,  although  she  was  not  happy 
in  her  marriage,  that  there  was  some  satisfaction  in  keeping  the 
secret,  she  resolved  at  once  to  give  such  a  turn  to  the  affair,  as 
should  keep  her  neighbors,  the  Bockums,  whose  curious  and  com 
municative  dispositions  she  well  understood,  entirely  in  the  dark. 
She  gave,  herself,  therefore,  an  immediate  response  to  the  farmer's 
inquiry.  "  Major  Marquee  and  myself,"  she  replied,  "  were  doubt 
ing  whether  punch  was  meant  to  be  included  in  the  temperance 
pledge,  and  we  thought  we  would  ask  your  opinion."  —  "And 
cordials  also,"  said  the  major  in  a  choleric  tone  of  voice.  —  "  And 
juleps,"  cried  the  lady ;  her  temper  for  an  instant,  getting  the  better 
of  her  discretion.  —  "  Well,  raally,"  said  the  farmer,  "  it 's  a  leetle 
of  a  perplex,  an't  it  ?"  —  "  Why,  father,"  cried  his  eldest  daughter, 
Miss  Dolly  Bockum,  "  how  can  you  doubt  about  it?  It 's  meant  to 
include  all  distilled  liquor."  —  "What,  rosewater!"  cried  old  Mrs 
Bockum;  "I  vum,  I'll  have  my  name  off  to-morrow."  —  "No, 
no,"  said  Mrs.  Marquee;  "  your  daughter  is  mistaken;  it  is  in 
tended  to  include  all  distilled  spirits.11  —  "  Well,"  said  the  major, 
gruffly,  "  are  not  cordials  distilled  spirits?"  —  "  I  never  heard  so," 
replied  the  lady.  — "Nor  I,  neither,"  said  Mrs.  Bockum;  "I 
always  thought  they  was  a  kind  o'  metheglin."  —  "Well  now," 
said  the  farmer,  "  I  never  made  any  o'  that  kind  o'  sweet  slipslop. 
'  've  made  cider  brandy,  and  cider,  boiled  down  to  a  third  or  so  's, 
a  good  drink.  Dkm't  s'pose  there's  anything  in  our  pledge  agi» 


£44  THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  ARE  THEY? 

wch  as  them  are.  The  hull  differ  seems  to  me  to  lie  jist  here  ;  rum, 
»nd  gin,  and  Scotch  whiskey  and  all  them  forrin  sperets  is  what  's 
meant  in  our  pledge.  But  'twas  n't  meant  to  cut  off  sich  drinks  as 
we  make  at  hum,  arter  our  own  fashin.  If  a  body  makes  a  leetle 
?ider  brandy,  or  a  leetle  snakeroot,  or  a  leetle  rottifee,  or  sich  like, 
ill  done  at  hum,  mind  ye,  I  don't  see  not  a  mite  o'  harm  in  tha-t. 
ft  we  was  to  give  up  them,  't  would  be  signing  away  our  liberties 
vixh  a  vengeance.  Now,  major,  I  really  don't  s'pose  'twould  be 
»ui  of  the  way,  it  you  've  a  mind  to  make  your  juleps  or  your  punch 
idtn  some  o'  my  cider  brandy,  and  I  guess  I  can  spare  ye  a  barrel. 
Squire  Tarbell  gin  me  for  ten  gallons  last  week  —  he  was  a  layin  in 
Bome>  jest  afore  he  joined  the  society — he  gin  me,  lets  me  see — " 
—  "No  matter  what  he  gave  you,"  cried  the  major,  impatiently. 
"  I  tell  you,  neighbor  Bockum,  I  'd  rather  swallow  a  four-pound 
shot  than  one  drop  of  your  home-made  trumpery ;  so  I  bid  you  good 
night.' 

Thei  had  arrived  at  a  fork  in  the  road,  which  necessarily  led 
apart  to  their  respective  dwellings  ;  and  the  parties  accordingly 
separated,  in  no  very  amiable  humor  towards  each  other.  —  "  What 
an  insufferable  old  fool,"  said  the  major  to  his  better  half,  when 
they  had  advanced  a  few  rods  upon  their  way,  "  to  suppose  I  would 
consent  \o  drink  his  vile  home-made  stuff!  It's  strong  enough, 
howevei  to  fuddle  a  commodore.  I  've  seen  the  old  fellow  as  boozy 
as  a  hum  top,  more  than  fifty  times,  upon  his  own  abominable  brew 
ings.  Mark  my  word,  that  man  will  be  a  downright  sot  before  he 
dies.  The  habit  has  been  growing  upon  him  for  four  or  five  years, 
very  evidently.  He  seems  to  think  the  brandy  can  do  him  no  harm, 
because  he  makes  it  himself,  under  his  own  roof.  What  an  egre 
gious  idiot !  He  takes  it  clear,  or  in  water  as  grog,  the  very  thing 
tne  pledge  is  directed  against ;  and,  because  it  is  not  foreign  spirit, 
he  appears  to  believe  himself  a  consistent  member  of  the  temperance 
society.  If  he  proceeds  in  this  way,  his  conduct  ought  to  be  taken 
notice  of  in  some  way  or  other.  Sooner  or  later,  he  rll  die  a  sot ; 
you  see  if  I  am  a  false  prophet,  Mrs.  Marquee.  Upon  reflection, 
my  dear,"  continued  the  major,  after  a  short  pause,  "  I  am  not  so 
sure,  that  the  pledge  is  intended  to  include  cordials  any  more  than 
punch  and  juleps,  which,  I  am  quite  certain,  it  was  never  designed 
to  comprehend.  I  have  been  in  the  habit  heretofore  of  taking  a 
glass  of  brandy  and  water  with  a  friend.  I  shall  do  this  no  more, 
of  course  ;  for  this  I  account  to  be  dram-drinking,  the  very  thing, 
and  the  only  thing,  which  the  society  aims  to  prevent."  —  "  Well, 
major,"  his  lady  replied,  "  I  am  not  perfectly  sure,  when  I  think 
more  seriously  of  the  whole  matter,  that  your  opinion  is  not  a  cor- 


THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  ARE  THEY?  246 

rect  one  1  am  confident  as  to  cordials,  and  perhaps  you  are  righ. 
in  regaid  to  punch  and  juleps  ;  and  if  I  have  said  anything  hastily 
upon  this  subject,  or  in  a  moment  of  excitement,  I  would  not  have 
you  consider  it  as  my  deliberate  opinion,  my  dear."  —  "  Well,  my 
dear,"  said  the  major,  "  cL^s  is  just  what  I  expected.  I  knew  your 
excellent  good  sense  would  conduct  you  to  a  just  conclusion.  Punch, 
juleps,  and  cordials,  my  love,  were  no  more  intended  to  be  compre 
hended  in  the  temperance  pledge  than  wine-whey,  or  sack-posset, 
you  may  rely  upon  it."  —  "I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  my  dear,"  replied 
the  lady.  In  this  agreeable  humor  they  arrived  at  their  own  door  ; 
and  the  major  having  taken  a  mint-julep,  and  the  lady  her  glass  of 
anisette,  these  interesting  members  of  the  temperance  society  retired 
to  their  repose. 

"  If  that  isn't  bein  perlite!"  cried  Farmer  Bockum  to  his  wife 
and  daughters,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  major 
and  his  lady;  "if  that  is  n't  bein  perlite!  that 's  bein  brought  up 
jinteel,  I  s'pose.  What  did  I  say,  I  wants  to  know,  that  was  n't  as 
civil  as  need  be  ?  I  offered  to  let  him  have  a  barrel  o'  my  cider 
brandy,  and  Squire  Tarbell  thought  himself  lucky  enough  to  get  no 
more  than  ten  gallons  on  it ;  and  he  ups  and  tells  me  to  my  face  that 
it 's  trumpery,  and  that  he  would  n't  swally  a  drap  on 't  no  more 
than  he  'd  swally  a  cartouch-box  ;  that 's  perlite,  an't  it?"  —  "  No, 
no,  father,  he  did  n't  say  anything  about  a  cartouch-box,"  cried 
Dolly  Bockum  ;  "he  said  a  four-pound  shot."  —  " I  don't  care  the 
vally  of  a  rasher  o'  bacon  what  he  said ;  it  makes  not  a  mite  o' 
differ  which  'twas  he  swally'd  ;  he  may  swally  'em  both,  an  he  's 
a  mind  to,  and  be  hang'd."  —  "  I  reckon,"  said  the  farmer's  wife, 
"  they  'd  been  a  spatting  on  it."  —  "I  guess  as  though  they  'd  been 
at  it,"  said  Miss  Dolly ;  "he  seemed  proper  disgruntled,  'cause  she 
twitted  him  about  juleps  and  punch,  and  so  he  gin  her  a  jab  about 
cordials."  —  "Well,  no  matter,"  said  the  farmer;  "that's  no 
reason  why  he  should  insult  me  right  off  as  he  did.  Punch  and 
juleps,  to  be  sure  !  he  's  a  punchin  and  julepin  day  and  night ;  he  a 
member  of  the  temperance  society !  I  've  kept  the  run  on  him  for 
a  long  spell,  and,  if  he  don't  get  clean  down  to  heel,  and  get  to  be 
a  raal  drunkard  afore  ten  years  is  gone  by,  then  I  'm  no  prophet." 

The  worthy  farmer,  as  he  entered  his  cottage,  appeared  to  be 
essentially  relieved  by  the  outpouring  of  this  merciful  prediction, 
mingled,  as  it  probably  was,  and  as  such  predictions  loo  frequently 
s»re,  with  no  very  faint  hope  of  their  ultimate  verification.  "  Well, 
Dolly,"  said  he,  as  he  squared  himself  before  the  fire,  with  his  feet 
upon  the  tops  of  the  andirons,  and  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  "  reach 
down  that  are  decanter  from  the  i  pper  shelf,  and  gi'  me  a  bicker, 

VOL.  II  21* 


240  THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  ARE  THEY) 

ducky  ;  let 's  try  a  leetle  o'  that  are  trumpery  —  why,  it 's  all  gone. 
What 's  got  it?  Here,  wife,  what 's  come  o'  the  cider  brandy  that 
was  in  this  ere  decanter?"  —  "What's  come  on't?"  cried  the 
wife  ;  "  why,  man,  you  're  losing  your  memory  ;  don't  you  remem 
ber  you  drank  it  yourself?"  —  The  old  farmer's  memory  was, 
indeed,  somewhat  impaired  ;  and  the  present  was  not  the  only  occa 
sion,  upon  which  this  faithful  sharer  of  all  his  joys  and  sorrows  had 
availed  herself  of  the  circumstance,  to  persuade  him,  that  he  himself 
had  consumed  the  contents  of  his  decanter,  which  she  had,  in  fact, 
poured  into  her  own  keg  of  metheglin,  for  the  purpose  of  advancing 
it  somewhat  nearer  to  the  standard  of  Mrs.  Marquee's  anisette.  — 
"  Well,  well,  Dolly,"  said  the  old  man,  "  run  down,  ducky,  and  fill 
it  agin.  I  'd  no  idee  'twas  all  gone,  what  was  in  the  decanter  ;  I 
thought  'twas  eenamost  full."  —  Dolly  obeyed  her  father's  com 
mands  ;  the  replenished  decanter  was  soon  upon  the  table  ;  and  the 
old  farmer,  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  sipped  and  sang  the  praises 
of  his  cider  brandy.  His  cheerful  partner  sat  by  his  side,  solacing 
herself  with  a  glass  of  her  favorite  metheglin,  secretly  enforced  ; 
anticipating  the  numerous  advantages,  which  their  village  would 
derive  from  the  establishment  of  the  temperance  society  ;  comment 
ing  upon  the  perilous  effects  of  punch  and  juleps  ;  and  perfectly 
concurring  in  her  husband's  prophecy,  that  Major  Marquee  would 
die  a  drunkard. 

Micajah  Moody,  the  major's  serving-man,  had  been  once  an 
orderly  sergeant ;  and,  on  account  of  a  remarkable  combination  of 
good  qualities,  he  had  been  translated,  rather  than  promoted,  from 
the  regiment  to  his  present  situation.  He  certainly  furnished  an 
additional  illustration  of  that  facetious  saying,  that  nothing  was  ever 
benefited  by  translation  but  a  bishop.  Those  restrictions  were  not 
to  be  found  in  the  major's  kitchen,  which  had  retained  Micajah 
within  the  bounds  of  decency  while  surrounded  by  his  corps,  who 
were  entitled,  of  course,  to  the  benefit  of  his  good  example.  A 
very  grievous  amount  of  drunkenness,  among  the  members  of  this 
particular  class,  is  manifestly  produced  by  the  free  indulgence  of 
their  masters ;  who,  until  their  domestics  become  thoroughly  con 
firmed  and  utterly  unprofitable  sots,  cannot  very  gracefully  reprove, 
in  the  persons  of  their  inferiors,  those  habits  of  intemperance,  to 
which  they  are  conscious  of  being  sufficiently  addicted  themselves. 
Those  free  livers,  as  they  are  sometimes  called,  cannot  be  supposed 
zealous  to  check  the  habit  in  their  dependants  and  retainers,  at  the 
rery  commencement ;  in  which  very  commencement,  beyond  all 
doubt,  the  danger  lies,  and  when  a  few  preventive  suggestions 
would  be  likely  to  produce  that  happy  result  *vhich  all  subsequent 
exertions  may  never  be  able  to  accomplish. 


fHE  PROPHETS'  WHERE  ARE  THEY?  247 

Micajah  had  the  highest  reverence  for  Major  Marquee.  His  devo 
tion  was  entire  and  absolute.  No  rule  of  ethics  was  ever  needed 
by  this  worthy  servitor,  whenever  he  could  obtain,  for  his  direction, 
the  precept  or  example  of  his  incomparable  master.  The  exhibi 
tions  of  his  exalted  respect  were  sometimes  perfectly  ridiculous, 
and  rather  embarrassing  to  the  major  himself.  A  party,  chiefly 
military  gentlemen,  had  been  dining  with  the  major,  and  were 
engaged  in  comparing  the  professional  merits  of  Saxe.  Turenue, 
l^arlborough,  Wellington,  Bonaparte,  and  other  great  captains. 
The  restlessness  of  Micajah  was  very  visible  in  every  look  and 
action.  At  length,  he  could  contain  himself  no  longer  ;  and,  \\  her 
one  of  the  party  had  bestowed  unqualified  applause  upon  the  French 
chieftain,  —  "  O,  gentlemen,"  cried  this  devoted  follower,  "  I  wish 
you  'd  a  seen  the  major  at  Lundy's  Lane."  —  "  Leave  the  room," 
cried  his  master.  —  "Talk  o' Bonapart,"  muttered  Micajah,  mov 
ing  towards  the  door.  ••  Begone,  sir,"  cried  the  major,  with  evi 
dent  embarrassment.  The  honest  fellow  left  the  room,  shaking  his 
head,  and  muttering  to  himself,  "  If  they  'd  'a  been  at  Lundy's 
Lane!"  — 

Micajah,  one  instant  before  he  beheld  the  major  enrolling  his 
name  among  the  members  of  the  temperance  society,  cared  nothing 
for  temperance ;  and,  like  a  Swiss  soldier  in  foreign  service,  would 
as  cheerfully  and  zealously  have  followed  his  employer,  in  opposi 
tion  to  the  cause.  But  he  no  sooner  gathered  the  impression  that 
his  redoubtable  master  was  disposed  to  favor  these  measures,  than, 
without  any  other  reflection,  he  readily  subscribed  the  pledge ;  and, 
as  the  major  remarked  in  the  conversation  with  his  lady,  was 
undoubtedly  tipsy  at  the  time.  And  yet  here  was  no  literal  incon 
sistency  ;  for  Micajah 's  favorite  beverage  was  porter  or  brown  stout, 
he  having  become  persuaded,  some  six  or  seven  years  before,  when 
he  lost  an  eye  in  a  broil,  while  grievously  drunk  upon  gin,  that  dis 
tilled  spirit  did  not  suit  his  peculiar  constitution. 

Micajah  Moody  fancied  himself  highly  exalted,  by  having  his 
name  so  closely  associated  with  his  master's,  and  being  actually  a 
member  of  the  same  society.  It  was  with  an  air  of  unusual  impor 
tance,  therefore,  that  he  entered  the  major's  kitchen,  and  took  his 
position  before  the  fire  with  folded  arms,  on  the  evening  when  he 
returned  from  the  temperance  lecture. 

Major  Marquee,  probably  in  conformity  with  camp  habits,  enter 
tained  a  preference  for  male  domestics.  His  family,  in  this  depart 
ment,  consisted,  beside  Micajah,  of  a  strapping  black  boy,  to  use 
the  Southern  appellation,  though  Lucifer,  for  such  was  his  name, 
hail  weathered  seventy  winters,  and  was  grayer  than  a  badger. 


248  THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  ARE  THEY? 

Lucifer,  greatly  to  the  annoyance  of  Mrs.  Marquee  performed  the 
office  of  chambermaid  ;  and  it  was  with  no  little  difficulty,  that  she 
had  prevailed  with  the  major  to  retain  old  Morcas  Groonter,  the 
cook,  who  had  lived  many  years  in  the  family.  For  an  omelet, 
souifle" ,  and  a  ragout,  Morcas  was  unrivalled  ;  and  this  consideration 
is  supposed  to  have  turned  the  balance  in  her  favor.  Lucifer  was  a 
runaway  slave,  with  whose  master  the  major  had  compounded.  He 
was  born  in  Congo,  and  might,  in  his  prime,  have  been  accounted 
the  blackest,  the  woolliest,  and  the  glossiest  of  his  species.  Mor 
cas  Groonter  was  a  native  of  Amsterdam.  Such  was  the  major'* 
establishment ;  and,  when  Micajah  entered  the  kitchen,  these  wor 
thies  were  seated  on  each  side  of  the  expansive  hearth,  waiting  the 
return  of  the  household.  Micajah 's  air  was  so  unusual,  and  the 
pomposity  of  his  attitude  so  perfectly  ridiculous,  that,  after  turning 
the  whites  of  his  eyes  towards  him  two  or  three  times,  Lucifer  gave 
way  to  the  impulse  of  his  feelings,  and  sent  forth  that  inimitable 
Guinea  snicker,  which  has  never  yet  been  produced  by  the  native 
inhabitants  of  three  quarters  of  the  globe.  —  "  What  are  you  grin 
ning  for,  like  a  Cheshire  cat,  hey,  nigger?"  cried  Micajah  in  a  pas 
sion.  —  "  Ho,  Mass  Cajy,  don  be  mad  now,"  replied  the  old  negro  ; 
"  I  ony  laugh  cause  you  look  so  full  o'  yourself;  dat  all."  —  "  Look 
'a  here,  you  nigger,"  cried  Micajah,  stamping  on  the  hearth,  "no 
more  of  your  imp'dence  —  keep  your  distance,  sir.  You  '11  please 
hereafter,  when  you  speak  to  me,  to  call  me  Sergeant  Moody  —  no 
more  of  your  Mass  Cajy,  or  I  '11  break  your  black  choclate-pot  for 
you. — Morcas,"  continued  he,  after  a  short  pause,  "I  and  the 
ma  —  major  have  joined  the  temperance  society."  —  Old  Morcas 
stared  in  his  face,  and  laughed  outright,  and  Lucifer  ran  his  fist  into 
his  mouth,  lest  he  should  furnish  fresh  occasion  for  enraging  the 
sergeant,  whose  humor  he  well  understood,  and  who  was  apt  to 
be  extremely  savage,  when  under  the  influence  of  intoxicating 
liquor.  —  "What  do  you  laugh  at,  old  woman?"  cried  Micajah. 
"  Your  mistress  has  signed  the  pledge,  and  I  guess  you  '11  have  to 
sign  it  yourself,  or  quit  your  quarters."  —  "  Mish  Marquee  sign  de 
bledge  !  vat  you  mean?"  said  old  Morcas,  lifting  up  her  hands  in 
astonishment ;  "  vat,  vill  she  not  trink  no  more  of  dat  shwset  stuff 
vat  she  keep  in  te  plue  tronk,  ey  ?"  — "  Pshaw,  y»u  old  outlandish 
f>ol  you  !"  cried  the  sergeant;  "  the  pledge  has  nothing  to  do  with 
•hat,  nor  wine,  nor  beer;  but  rum,  and  gin,  and  brandy."  — '  M:»r- 
oas  Groonter  won't  sign  de  bledge  den,"  said  the  old  woman  "  Ise 
trinkt  de  Hollands  ven  I  vas  shmall  as  you  knee ;  my  mutter  trinkt 
'em  ;  my  fader  trinkt  'em  ;  Vandergrist,  de  minishter,  he  trinkt  'em. 
Ise  heerd  him  say  if  dere  vas  no  more  Hollands,  den  dere  vud  pe  no 
snore  purgoroasters." 


THE  PROPHETS!    WHERE  ARE  THEY?  249 

While  Moreas  was  enforcing  her  opinion,  Micajah  had  betaken 
himself  to  the  dresser,  and,  ha' ing  swallowed  an  additional  potation 
of  brown  stout,  he  resumed  his  position  before  the  fire.  "  Well,'' 
said  he,  "the  major  has  signed  the  so  —  society,  and  if  man, 
woman,  or  child  dares  to  say  agin  it,  I,  I,  I  don't  care  who  he  is, 
you  see  if  I  don't.  —  I  'm  for  temperance ;  and  I  '11  tell  .ye  what, 
old  woman,  if  you  go  on  as  you  have,  for  a  —  for  a  long  spell  a 
guzzling  G:neva,  you  '11  be  a  drunkard  before  you  die,  that  —  that 
are  "s  what  I  prophesy."  —  "la  tronkard  avoor  I  tie !"  exclaimed 
olc  Mcrcas,  highly  incensed  at  the  suggestion;  "la  tronkaid 
avoor  I  tie!  vy,  Mike,  you  pe  dronk  dis  plessit  minnit  your  own 
sel.  Vich  make  de  piggest  tronkard,  a  leetle  oold  Hollands  or  de 
prown  shtout,  ey,  I  vender  !  You  pe  foine  hand  to  sign  de  bledge  ! 
haw,  haw  !"  — "  Well,  hold  your  clack  —  clack,  mother  Groont  — 
Groonter,  will  ye?  I  'm  for  turning  in."  —  The  sergeant  rose  and 
staggered  toward  the  door  on  his  way  to  his  dormitory.  "  I  '11  tell 
ye  what,  old  wo  —  woman,"  said  he,  as  he  stood  with  his  hand  on 
the  door-latch,  his  body  swaying  backward  and  forward  while  he 
spoke,  "  I  '11  tell  ye  what,  Hollands  will  be  the  death  of  ye  :  hadn't 
ye  better  sign  the  so  —  society,  old  wo  —  woman,  hey?  what  d'  ye 
say  to  that?"  — "  Ise  vish  de  society  wash  ere  to  zee  dare  new 
memper  —  get  along  to  ped,  Mike,  and  shleep  avay  de  gallon  of  de 
prown  shtout  vat  you  pe  trink  to-day." 

It  is  pleasant,  as  Lucretius  says,  to  get  upon  the  very  top  of  all 
philosophy,  and  look  out  upon  the  world,  safe  ourselves  from  its 
dangers  and  alarms.  So  thought  Lucifer,  who  had  sat  in  silence, 
grinning  from  ear  to  ear,  and  enjoying  the  strife  in  which  he  was 
not  likely  to  be  comprehended.  There  were  few  things  in  life, 
which  afforded  higher  satisfaction  to  this  ancient  African  than  the 
quarrels  of  Moreas  and  Micajah.  —  "  Veil,  Mishy  Groonter,"  said 
he,  as  soon  as  the  sergeant  was  out  of  hearing,  "  Mass  Cajy  pooty 
well  up  tree.  He  all  for  temperance,  he,  he,  he,  he !  ony  tink  ;  and 
de  major,  and  de  ol  lady,  he,  he!  ony  tink!  Mishy  Groonter!"  — 
"  Lush,"  cried  the  old  crone,  unable  to  subdue  her  indignant  feel 
ings,  "  you  hear  vat  he  zay,  I  pe  a  tronkart  avoor  I  tie.  And  he 
himsel  de  tronken  velp  vat  he  pe,"  —  "Yes,  Mishy  Groonter," 
replied  Lucifer,  "  I  hear  'em  :  vat  you  tink  ob  de  ol  lady  for  tem 
perance,  Mishy  Groonter?  ey,  vat  you  tink?  he,  he,  he!  She  git 
ober  de  bay  some  lime.  Two,  tree,  four  time  she  send  for  de  doc 
tor  here,  de  las  year,  notten  de  matter  under  de  hebben  but  de  good 
stuff,  Mishy  Groonter.  So  ven  ol  doctor  he  come  down,  I  ax  vat 
de  matter,  and  he  say,  O,  notten,  only  leetle  touch  ob  de  pocalyptic 
fit — tink  he  call  'em  so.  An  ven  I  zay,  O  how  sorry  I  be !  and 


250         THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  ARE  THEY? 

look  de  ol  doctor  right  in  de  eye,  he  pjt  his  finger  long  side  hie 
nose,  and  look  so  ridiclous,  thought  should  die.  De  ol  lady  go  tie 
way  ob  de  rest  ob  em,  you  see,  Mishy  Groonter ;  oly  you  reclec, 
some  day  or  odder,  what  Lusfer  say."  — "Dat  shweet  stuff  vat 
she  trink,"  replied  Morcas,  as  she  raked  up  the  fire  preparatory  to 
her  departure  for  bed,  "  vould  make  me  vary  tronk  avoor  long.  I 
pe  sorry  de  goot  old  laddy  pe  get  in  de  pad  vay."  —  So  saying,  and 
having  prepared  to  depart,  she  unlocked  a  cupboard,  sacred  tc  her 
own  particular  use,  and,  taking  therefrom  a  bottle  of  Geneva,  she 
took  her  customary  evening  dram,  leaving  a  few  drops  in  the  g  ass 
for  Lucifer,  which  he  swallowed  with  evident  delight.  Having 
made  his  arrangements  for  the  morning,  in  doing  which  he  had 
occupied  some  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  after  old  Morcas  retired, 
and  cautiously  reconnoitring  to  see  if  all  was  still,  the  faithful 
Lucifer  drew  a  key  from  his  own  pocket,  and,  unlocking  the  sacred 
cupboard,  helped  himself  to  a  full  glass  of  Hollands,  turning  into 
the  bottle  an  equal  quantity  of  water  in  its  stead  ;  and,  having  wiped 
his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  he  sat  ruminating  over  the 
smouldering  embers,  and  agreeably  to  his  long-accustomed  habit, 
talking  to  himself  under  the  influence  of  his  dram  :  — "  Pooty  fair 
dat,  as  massa  say,  ven  he  relish  de  julep ;  pooty  fair  dat,  Mishy 
Groonter ;  he,  he,  he !  Guess  Mass  Cajy  'bout  right,  Mishy 
Groonter  die  drunkard.  Guess  Mishy  Groonter  rbout  right  too. 
Mass  Cajy  die  same  way.  Don  care  if  dey  do.  Den  de  ol  major 
and  de  ol  lady  go  off  jest  de  same,  likes  not.  Who  care  !  Let 
'em  go.  Dey  don  care  for  de  ol  nigger,  and  de  ol  nigger  don  care 
for  dem.  Vat  ol  nigger  made  for  ?  I  don  know.  Ol  nigger  like 
once  more  to  see  his  pickaninnies  on  de  plantation  —  dey  big  now, 
field  hands,  s'pose  —  den  ol  nigger  like  to  die  and  go  back  to 
Congo,  and  swim  in  de  ribber  where  de  white  thief  stole  de  ol 
nigger  ven  he  little  pickaninny  hisself.  — Veil,  Lushfer,  go  to  bed, 
and  forget  all  'bout  it ;"  and  having  finished  his  soliloquy,  he  obeyed 
the  commands  which  he  thus  laid  upon  himself. 

It  is  about  twelve  years  since  the  occurrences,  which  have  been 
thus  succinctly  described  are  supposed  to  have  taken  place.  They 
came  to  our  knowledge  about  four  years  ago,  and  were  substantially 
related  by  a  clergyman,  who  was  a  zealous  supporter  of  the  tem 
perance  cause.  "How  exceedingly  inconsistent,  how  perfectly 
absurd,"  said  he,  "  are  the  views  of  some  persons  upon  this  inter 
esting  subject!  It  can  be  of  little  importance,  by  what  means 
drunkenness  is  produced.  The  divine  command  to  abstain  from 
drunkenness  is  equally  violated  by  him,  who  commits  the  offence, 
whether  he  employs  one  agent  or  another,  for  the  production  of 


THE  PROPHETS!  WrfERE  ARE  THEY?  25- 

this  disgusting  result."  He  then  proceeded  to  relate  the  preceding 
narrative,  by  way  of  illustration.  "  All  these  personages,"  con 
tinued  he,  "  were  either  parishioners  of  mine,  or  within  the  sphere 
of  my  observation ;  and  their  predictions  and  prophecies,  in  regard 
to  one  another,  were  occasionally  made  in  my  hearing.  Farmer 
Bockum  was  a  veritable  prophet.  The  major  squandered  his  wife's 
property,  became  exceedingly  intemperate,  so  much  so  that  his 
name  was  stricken  off  by  the  society,  within  three  months  after  he 
signed  the  pledge.  He  died  of  apoplexy.  Lucifer  was  not  the 
only  one,  who  presumed  to  foretell  a  similar  fate  in  relation  1o  his 
mistress.  She  is  still  living,  decidedly  intemperate,  and  supported 
by  an  old  family  connection.  When  their  property  was  gone,  she 
reconciled  herself  to  the  most  humble  substitutes  for  noyeau  and 
anisette.  The  old  lady's  prediction  was  not  less  correct  in  regard 
to  Micajah,  than  was  his  in  relation  to  old  Morcas  Groonter.  Both 
are  in  their  graves,  and  both  died  drunkards.  Poor  Farmer  Bockum 
is  also  dead,  and  he  died  in  the  most  perfect  fulfilment  of  the  major's 
prophecy.  The  farmer's  widow  still  lives,  though  in  a  very  bad 
way.  She  is  not  commonly  suspected  of  intemperance,  since  she 
ordinarily  drinks  nothing  but  metheglin,  and  her  secret  of  enforcing 
it  was  one  that  she  probably  considered  too  important  to  be  commu 
nicated.  Old  Lucifer  also  is  no  more.  He  died  a  sot,  and  I  have 
frequently  warned  him  of  the  consequences  of  his  evil  habit.  You 

see,  my  dear  sir,"  continued  the  Rev.  Mr. ,  "  you  see  the 

verifications  of  all  these  prophecies.  Well  may  we  exclaim,  The 
prophets  !  where  are  they?  " 

I  was  much  amused  and  instructed  by  these  remarks  of  my  rever 
end  friend  ;  and,  believing  they  might  be  profitably  moulded  into  the 
form  of  a  temperance  tale,  I  called  on  the  narrator,  about  a  month 
after  the  first  recital,  to  ascertain  if  he  had  any  objection.  It  was 
nearly  four  years  ago.  I  found  him  just  taking  his  seat  at  the  din 
ner-table,  and,  upon  his  pressing  invitation,  I  took  mine  by  his  side. 
tie  agreed  with  me  entirely,  and  gave  his  ready  consent  to  the  pub- 
ication.  I  perceived  a  decanter  of  colored  liquor  upon  the  table, 
and  supposing  it  to  be  currant  water,  or  some  simple  beverage,  I 
inquired  with  a  smile,  if  it  were  some  of  Mrs.  Bockum's  metheglin. 
My  friend  replied,  and,  as  I  fancied  at  the  moment,  with  a  little 
formality,  that  it  was  not.  Presently  he  poured  out  a  glass  for 
himself,  and  asked  me  if  I  would  take  a  glass  of  wine.  —  "  Wine  !" 
said  I,  with  an  involuntary  expression  of  surprise.  "  Yes,"  he 
replied  ;  "  this  is  some  excellent  sherry,  sent  me  as  a  present  by 
a  parishioner  of  mine."  —  "  I  was  not  aware,"  said  I,  "  that  you 
drank  wine."  —  "Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  with  increasing  formality, 


252  THE  PROPHETS!  WHERE  ARE  THEY) 

"  our  Saviour  drank  wine,  and  his  example  may  be  followed,  I  sup 
pose."  —  The  wife  and  children  of  the  reverend  gentleman  wer« 
present,  and  I  perceived,  that  any  attempt  to  argue  upon  this  inter 
esting  matter  would  have  been  ungraciously  received.  I  therefore 
shortly  after  took  my  leave. 

This  good  man  is  now  gathered  to  his  fathers.  When  the  tem 
perance  society  in  his  village,  of  which  he  had  been  president  for 
several  years,  decided  to  adopt  the  comprehensive  pledge,  he 
resigned  his  office,  and  not  only  ceased  to  cooperate  with  his  old 
friends,  but  became  positively  hostile  to  the  progress  of  the  temper 
ance  cause.  I  am  told  that  his  habit  of  drinking  wine  grew  visibly 
stronger  from  month  to  month,  and  not  only  utterly  annihilated  his 
influence  as  a  friend  of  temperance,  but  essentially  diminished  his 
usefulness  as  a  minister  of  the  gospel  of  Christ. 

Verily,  thought  I,  a*  I  p^r  ie.ed  these  things,  —  the  prophets' 
inhere  are  they? 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 


To  the  Rev.  JOHN  MARSH,  Corresponding  Secretary  of  the  American  Temperance  Cnion.  My 
Dear  Sir:  The  bagatelle,  which  I  present  you,  upon  the  following-  pages,  with  a  formal  dedioitic* 
loth*  Corresponding  Secretary  of  the  American  Tempeiance  Union,  reminds  me  of  some  little  urchin. 
Who,  in  a  sportive  moment,  has  overwhelmed  his  bows  with  his  grandfather's  full-bottom  »ij. 
Nevertheless,  as  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  the  fact,  upon  which  I  have  constructed  the  story  of 
Margaret''*  Bridal,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  inscri.ie  it  with  your  name.  In  truth,  this  In  tit 
narrative  was  written  at  your  particular  suggestion  ;  and  I  cau  never  regret  it,  since  it  has  affords*! 
me  legitimate  occasion  for  associating  with  my  humble  labors  the  name  of  one,  whom  I  cordiaJJy 
respect  and  esteem. 

And  now,  my  dear  sir,  that  I  have  virtually  made  you,  nolent  volens,  the  sponsor  for  my  bantling. 
I  intend  to  be  quite  as  reasonable  in  my  demands,  as  most  fond  parents  are  upon  the  god-fathers  of 
thr-r  offspring.  In  a  word,  if  you  will  vouchsafe  to  this  new-comer  a  very  small  share  of  that  afiec- 
tionate  interest,  which  you  have  »o  kindly  bestowed  upon  every  other  member  of  this  numerous 
fa'-vly,  it  will  be  favored  beyond  its  deserts.'and  I  shall  not  complain  of  the  operation  of  that  ancient 
it*  ute,  which  gave  the  first  born  a  double  portion. 

)n  this  holy  enterprise,  in  which  we  have  been  fellow-laborers,  for  many  years,  no  human  enjoy- 
vi  nt  can  he  more  pure  than  the  gratification  resulting  from  success.  Upon  this  consecrated  arena 
~»lther  riches  nor  honors  are  to  be  gathered,  of  this  present  world.  We  are  permitted  to  behold  the 

ig-lost  child,  dead  —  ay,  buried  in  his  trespasses  and  sins  —  bursting  the  bandages  of  a  moral 
*ath  —  returning  to  the  trembling  arms  of  an  aged  parent  —  wives  regaining  their  husbands  — 
rphans  finding  their  fathers  —  the  miserable  drunkard  resuming  the  implements  of  honest  industry, 
Battering  up  his  fallen  respectability,  and,  after  years  of  slothful  nejlect,  returning  to  his  little 
jnes  at  last  with  bread,  that  they  may  eat  and  live  — the  den  of  sin  and  misery  becoming  once  more 
the  peaceful  cottage  —  the  mutual  confidence  of  its  inmates  completely  re  established  —  the  rum-juff 
removed  forever  from  its  accustomed  place  upon  their  humble  board,  and  in  its  stead  the  expanded 
volume  of  eternal  truth  I  Is  there  not  enough  of  reward  for  all  our  toil  in  the  delightful  conscious 
ness,  that,  under  God,  we  have  had  any  »g"ency,  however  subordinate,  in  the  production  of  such 
results  as  these  ?  I  fervently  ask  of  Heaven  the  same  blessing  upon  this  present  effort,  which  hai 
been  vouchsafed  upon  its  predecessors.  May  God  speed  this  little  messenger  upon  its  errand  of 
mercy  to  the  castles  of  the  rich,  and  the  cottages  of  the  poor —  to  the  log-houses  of  the  far  west,  and 
to  foreign  climes. 

Adieu,  my  dear  sir.  May  we  be  permitted  to  labor  together  in  this  cause  of  God  and  of  humanity, 
for  many  years  ;  arid  may  we  say  of  it,  with  our  latest  breath,  in  the  language  of  the  departirf 
natriot  to  his  native  land  —  Etto perpetual 


11  GALLIOPOLIS  !"  —  "Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  captain  of  the  guy 
little  steamer,  in  which  we  were  gliding  rapidly  downward  upon  the 
glassy  waters  of  the  Ohio  ;  "  Galliopolis  is  the  name  of  that  settle 
ment,  and  the  river,  whose  mouth  you  see  opposite,  on  the  Virginia 
shore,  is  the  Great  Kenhaway.  Colonel  Byerly,"  continued  he, 
turning  to  a  good-looking,  gray-headed,  gentlemanly  man,  who  was 
sitting  near  us  upon  the  upper  deck,  —  "  Colonel  Byerly  is  an  old 
Buckeye,  and  can  give  you  all  the  information  you  can  possibly 
desire,  in  relation  to  these  matters.  Give  me  leave,  Colonel  Byerly, 
to  make  you  acquainted  with  Mr.  Merlin,  of  Massachusetts.  He  is 
a  stranger  in  this  region,  and  as  you  are  both  temperance  men,  you 
will  not  be  at  a  loss  for  a  topic  of  conversation."  —  The  colonel  rose 
with  an  air  of  politeness  and  cordiality,  which,  I  seriously  fear,  waa 
more  common,  half  a  century  ago,  than  it  is  at  the  present  day ; 
and,  with  something  of  the  formality  of  military  manners,  introduced 

YOL.  II.  22 


254  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

me  to  a  gentleman  who  was  conversing  with  him,  a  short  time 
before,  as  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny,  of  North  Carolina.  "  We  are 
all  temperance  men,  I  believe,"  said  Colonel  Byerly.  —  "I  trust  it 
is  so,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny  ;  "  I  know  of  no  common  ground, 
upon  which  entire  strangers  may  so  easily  become  friends,  as  upon 
the  temperance  ground."  —  "  How  wonderfully,"  sa-id  the  colouel, 
*  are  the  very  extremities  of  the  earth  brought  closely  together,  by 
this  power  of  steam  !  You  see  yonder,  near  the  after  part  of  the 
boat,  a  young  couple,  who  are  returning  to  Illinois.  That  young 
?ran  has  taken  a  wife  from  the  shores  of  the  Kennebec ;  and,  if  he 
sets  any  value  upon  his  ears,  he  will  never  open  his  mouth,  in  her 
hearing,  about  wooden  nutmegs  or  Yankee  notions.  Here,  owing 
to  this  amazing  facility  of  locomotion,  here  are  we  three,  from  dis 
tant  corners  of  the  union,  brought  together  in  front  of  Galliopolis." 

—  "  Pray,  sir,"  said  the  clergyman,  "  does  it  take  its  name  from  Gal- 
liopoli,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  or  from  Galliopoli  in  the 
kingdom  of  Naples?"  —  "  From  neither,"  replied  the  colonel,  "  but 
from  the  fact,  that,  many  years  since,  about  the  year   1791,  if  I 
rightly  recollect,  there  came  hither  a  company  of  French  adventur 
ers,  and  settled  upon  this  tract  of  land.     Some  time  after,  a  defect 
was  discovered  in  their  title,  and  they  were  accordingly  ejected.     It 
was  their  intention  to  have  cultivated  the  vine,  upon  an  extensive 
scale  ;  and,  for  some  particular  species,  it  was  thought  the  climate 
and  soil  would  have  been  very  well  adapted.     It  was  their  intention 
to  establish  the  manufacture  of  wine  ;  and  they  were  very  sanguine 
in  relation  to  the  success  of  their  enterprise,  until  they  were  driven 
from  their  Eden  in  the  wilderness,  by  the  power  of  the  law."  — 
"  What  a  pity,"  exclaimed  our  reverend  friend,  —  "what  a  pity, 
that  they  should  have  been  interrupted  in  such  a  career  of  active 
benevolence!"  —  Fora  moment,  I  supposed  this  remark  to  have 
been  uttered  in  the  spirit  of  irony.     A  single  glance  convinced  me 
of  my  error;  and,  at  that  instant,  I  recollected,  that,  in  the  earlier 
stages  of  the  temperance  reform,  and  while  its  fundamental  princi 
ples  were  as  yet  imperfectly  considered,  a  benevolent  physician,  in 
the  metropolis  of  New  England,  established  an  extensive  brewery, 
in  aid  of  the  temperance  cause.    "  Do  you  think,  sir,"  said  I,  address 
ing  myself  respectfully  to  the  clergyman,  —  "  do  you  think,  sir,  that 
the  introduction  of  the  vint,  into  our  country,  with  a  view  to  the 
mai  ufacture  of  wine  upon  an  extensive  scale,  would  be  a  blessing?" 

—  '•  Can  there  be  a  doubt  of  it?"  he  replied.  — "I  should  think 
there  might  he,"  said  a  pale  young  man,  in  rusty  black,  who  had 
joined  our  little  circle,  and  whom  I  conjectured,  correctly,  as  I  after- 
wards  ascertained,  to  be  himself  a  clergyman.      The  Rev.   Mr 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  255 

M'Ninny  gazed  upon  this  young  man,  who  had  presumed  to  doubt 
the  correctness  of  his  opinions,  with  an  expression,  which  did  not 
strike  me  as  altogether  evangelical.  "I  am  an  ?rdent  friend  of 
temperance,"  said  he,  "  but  I  am  not  an  ultraist.  There  is  a  great 
amount  of  ultraism  at  the  present  day,  and  this  excellent  cause  of 
temperance  has  come  in  for  a  bountiful  share  of  it."  —  "  Pray,  sir," 
said  the  young  man,  with  a  manner  altogether  unexceptionable, 

will  you  give  me  a  definition  of  ultraism?"  —  "  Give  you  a  defini 
tion  of  ultraism?  Yes,  sir,  I  will,"  replied  the  other;  "  ultraism, 
sir,  is  —  is  —  that  is  to  say,  ultraism  in  temperance  is  a  sort  of — a 
species  of  intemperance  itself,  sir.  It  is  going  beyond  reasonable 
bounds."  — "  Well,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  "on  the  whole,  I 
think  your  definition  of  ultraism  a  good  one  ;  and  now  the  question 
returns  in  this  form — what  are  reasonable  bounds ?"  —  "Reason 
able  bounds,"  replied  Mr.  McNinny,  "  are  the  old  bounds,  to  be 
sure.  While  the  friends  of  temperance  confined  their  operations  to 
the  suppression  of  the  use  of  ardent  spirit,  their  labors  were  attended 
with  success.  But  now  the  ultraists  are  bringing  ruin  on  the  best 
of  causes.  Wine  is  a  blessing,  and  so  are  all  fermented  liquors. 
Fermentation  is  God's  work;  distillation  is  man's  work."  — 
"  Stranger,"  said  a  raw-boned  Kentuckian,  who  had  listened  in 
silence  for  some  time,  "both  on  'em's  the  devil's  work,  I  tell  ye. 
I  've  tried  'em  all,  and  been  jest  as  crazy  as  a  'coon  with  a  slug  in 
his  ear,  'pon  every  one  on  'em,  from  streaked  ale  up  e'enamost  t' 
akyfortus." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  young  man,  after  the  Kentuckian's  unexpected 
sortie  had  produced  its  effect,  and  the  laughter,  which  it  had  occa 
sioned,  haJ  subsided,  "  it  seems  to  me  there  is  but  one  simple  ques 
tion  to  be  settled,  and  that  is  a  question  of  fact  —  are  fermented 
liquors,  or,  rather,  is  any  one  fermented  liquor  sufficient  now,  as  it 
was  of  olu,  for  the  production  of  personal,  domestic,  and  national 
Jrunkenne&s  !•  We  have  the  clearest  evidence,  that  the  greater  part 
if  the  drunkenness  of  Great  Britain,  at  the  present  day,  is  produced 
by  the  use  oi'  fermented  liquor,  especially  of  beer.  The  popular 
delusion,  respecting  the  temperance  of  France  and  other  wine-pro 
ducing  countries,  is  at  an  end.  This  error  has  arisen  from  a  long- 
continued  supposition  that  the  effects  of  drunkenness  were  similar, 
however  produced.  The  wretch,  stupefied  and  prostrate  in  the 
gutter,  under  the  influence  of  ardent  spirit  or  strong  beer  —  the 
assassin,  whose  eyes  are  open,  whose  muscular  power  is  absolutely 
increased,  but  whose  reason  is  utterly  dethroned,  under  the  stimulus 
of  light  wines  —  these  are  both  equally  drunk.  If  the  evils  of 
drunkenness  are  to  be  entailed  upon  us,  as  a  nation,  and  we  may  be 


256  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

permitted  to  choose  for  ourselves  the  means  of  intoxicaticn,  we  shall 
avoid  incalculable  evils,  by  selecting  ardent  spirits  instead  of  fer 
mented  liquors.  We  shall  thereby  greatly  diminish  the  amount  of 
domestic  misery.  In  either  case  the  drunkard  will  be  a  drunkard 
still ;  and  it  will  be  of  little  consequence,  in  regard  to  himself, 
whether  the  hand  of  death  do  its  work  earlier  or  later,  by  the  brief 
space  of  a  few  days,  or  weeks,  or  months.  In  relation  to  his  mis 
erable  household  and  to  all  around  him,  it  is  far  otherwise."  — 
"Jest  so,"  cried  the  Kentuckian,  "jest  so  my  wife  used  to  say; 
said  she,  *  Eleezur,  if  you  will  git  drunk,'  said  she,  *  for  Heaven's 
sake  git  drunk  right  off  on  whiskey ;  then  you  '11  tumble  into  the 
house  head  foremost,  and  the  boys  and  I  '11  be  able  to  git  ye  to  bed, 
and  ye  '11  sleep  it  off,  and  there  's  an  eend  on  't  for  that  bout.  But 
for  massy's  sake  don't  git  drunk  on  cider,  ye  're  so  long  a  gittin 
drunk,  and  so  cross  and  rampaugy  the  hull  time,  kickin  the  children 
about,  and  gittin  so  crazy  that  ye  don't  know  frind  from  foe ;  git 
drunk  on  whiskey,  Eleezur,  do  now,  there's  a  nice  man,  but  don't 
git  dnmk  on  cider.'  " 

These  shots  from  the  Kentuckian's  rifle  were  exceedingly  annoy 
ing  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny,  who  thought  proper  to  neutralize  the 
power  of  this  irregular  opponent,  by  a  perplexing  interrogatory.  — 
"  My  friend,"  said  he,  "  you  appear  to  be  a  very  zealous  advocate 
for  temperance  ;  are  you  a  member  of  the  society  ?"  —  "  I  be,  stran 
ger,"  he  replied  ;  "  I  joined  it  about  a  year  ago  ;  and  my  wife  says 
she  's  got  so  thin  to  live  for  now,  and  afore  she  wished  herself  dead  ; 
that's  the  differ;  and  the  children  aren't  afear'd  o'  me  now  no 
time  o'  day,  nor  night  neither.  I  don't  s'pose  you  'd  approve  o'  our 
society,  accordin  to  your  talk,  for  we  go  the  hull  figur.  Our  doc 
tor  's  joined  it,  but  we  can't  get  Parson  Roundy  nor  Lawyer  Flayer 
to  come  in  no  how.  The  squire  doubts  whether  it 's  constitutional ; 
and  Parson  Roundy  says  it 's  agin  Scriptur.  Kentuck  's  a  doin 
better  for  temperance  than  you  think  for,  stranger,  I  tell  ye." 

The  occasional  laughter,  which  had  been  elicited  by  the  quaint 
remarks  of  this  honest  backwoodsman,  had  made  our  circle  an  object 
of  no  small  attraction  ;  and  some  thirty  or  forty  passengers  had 
already  gathered  to  the  spot. 

"  The  wine  of  old,"  continued  the  young  clergymen,  "  contained 
no  other  alcohol  than  such  as  resulted  from  its  own  fermentation. 
Distillati  m  was  unknown.  Of  course,  no  distilled  spirit  was  added. 
The  ver)  reverse  of  this  is  true  of  the  modern  wine  of  commerce. 
It  is  highly  enforced  with  distilled  alcohol.  The  wine  of  old  was 
strong  enough,  comparatively  weak  and  innocent  as  it  was,  to  intox 
icate  Noah,  and  Lot,  and  Belshazzar,  and  even  the  primitive  Corin 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  257 

thian  disciples,  around  the  table  of  their  Lord.  It  was  strong 
enough  to  bring  down  that  curse  of  drunkenness  upon  all  Jerusa 
lem,  which  God  Almighty  denounced  by  the  lips  of  Jeremiah. 
Now,  as  man  is  precisely  the  thing  he  then  was,  so  far  as  respects 
his  liability  to  be  made  drunk,  by  such  means  of  drunkenness  as 
were  then  employed,  upon  what  ground  can  we  anticipate  for  our 
selves  a  different  result  from  the  operation  of  causes  precisely  simi 
lar?  If  distilled  spirit  were  forever  and  entirely  abolished  from  the 
earth,  yet  if  wine,  the  pure,  unenforced  wine  of  old  remained . 
drunkenness,  as  of  old,  would  remain,  the  very  same  personal, 
domestic,  and  national  curse.  How  much  more  probable  would  be 
this  result  from  the  employment  of  the  modern  wine  of  commerce!" 

—  "I  reckon  you'd  better  come  down,  stranger,"  said  the  Ken- 
tuckian,  addressing  himself  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  M' Ninny.  —  "Come 
down  !"  replied  he,  "  I  know  not  what  you  mean  by  coming  down." 

—  "  Well,  then,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  "  I  '11  jest  tell  ye.     Ye  see 
there  was  a  feller  was  a  tellin  how  many  'coons  he  'd  killed  in  a 
day.     He  made  a  dreadful  swagger  on  it;  I  b'lieve  my  soul  he  said 
he  'd  killed  a  hundred  afore  dinner.     There  was  another  feller,  a 
neighbor  o'  mine,  lives  a  purty  considerable  piece  above  my  log  on 
Boon's  Lick.     He  didn't  believe  the  tother,  ye  see  ;  so  he  ups  to 
him  arter  this  fashin  ;  says  he,  '  You  killed  a  hundred  afore  dinner, 
did  ye  ?'     '  Yes,  I  did,'  said  the  tother;  '  bagged  jest  ninety-seven  ; 
three  fell  in  the  gullies,  and  I  couldn't  git  'em.'  —  'That  are's 
nothin,'  said  he  ;  '  why,  there's  Ginral  Sweeny  up  our  Lick,  he  's 
fetched  down  a  hundred  and  forty  afore  breakfast.     The  'coons 
knew  he  never  missed,  and  they  got  out  of  his  way  as  soon  as  ever 
they  see  him.     There  was  one  confounded  sly  old  'coon  ;  he  'd  lost 
his  tail  and  one  paw ;  nobody  could  touch  him  over ;  but  one  day 
the  ginral  was  out,  and  he  got  a  fair  sight  o'  this  old  'coon,  clean  up 
in  the  tip  top  of  a  black  walnut.     Up  went  the  rifle,  and  the  ginral 
cries  out,  'Ha,  Jocco,  I've  got  ye  at  last.'     Jocco  looked  down, 
and  he  no  sooner  see  who  'twas,  than  he  cried  out,  'Don't  fire, 
ginral ;  if  it 's  you  I  '11  come  down  !'     'T  was  that  I  was  a  thinkin 
on,  when  I  told  ye,  stranger,  that  ye  'd  better  come  down."  —  The 
shout  of  laughter,  which  followed  this  last  speech  of  the  Kentuck 
ian,  literally  shook  the  timbers  of  our  little  steamer,  and  gathered 
almost  the  whole  company  around  us. 

"  Well,"  said  Colonel  Byerly,  "  I  am  not  a  member  of  the  Tem 
perance  Society,  but  I  believe  it  to  be  entitled  to  the  respect  of  every 
reflecting  man,  and  of  every  patriot.  If  I  were  asked  the  question, 
why  I  im  not  a  member  of  the  society,  it  would  probably  take  me 
some  time  to  furnish  a  reason,  which  would  satisfy  myself  or  any- 

VOL.  ii.  22* 


258  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

bod  /  else."  —  "  I  reckon  the  folks  are  more  than  half  right,  colonel," 
said  the  Kentuckian.  —  "  Half  right,"  said  the  colonel  with  a  smile, 
"in  what  respect?"  —  "Why,  they  all  say,"  replied  the  back 
woodsman,  "  that  you  're  an  honest  man."  —  "  Be  that  as  it  may," 
continued  Colonel  Byerly,  "  whenever  I  conclude  to  join  a  temper 
ance  society,  it  must  be  one,  whose  principles  of  action  are  consis 
tent  and  perfectly  intelligible.  If  the  object  of  the  society  be  the 
prevention  of  intoxication,  a  pledge  of  abstinence  should  run,  it 
seems  to  me,  against  all  intoxicating  drinks  ;  and,  strictly  speaking, 
against  all  intoxicating  substances.  A  pledge  of  abstinence  from 
ardent  spirits  is  an  imperfect  thing;  for  the  party  may  be  as  drunk 
as  he  pleases  upon  cider,  wine,  or  beer.  If  we  were  surrounded  by 
our  enemies,  it  would  be  accounted  miserable  generalship  to  concen 
trate  all  our  forces  in  front,  leaving  our  flanks  and  rear  without  any 
protection.  It  is  perfectly  absurd  to  speak  of  wine  as  a  harmless 
beverage.  During  the  old  war,  the  war  of  the  revolution,  the  offi 
cers  of  the  regiment,  to  which  I  was  attached,  became  fully  per 
suaded,  that  brandy  was  a  mischievous  beverage.  Its  evil  effects 
had  become  too  apparent.  Some  of  our  number  were  evidently 
getting  into  a  very  bad  way.  The  idea  of  a  temperance  society, 
extending  its  influence  over  the  whole  civilized  earth,  was  no  more 
in  our  thoughts,  at  that  time,  than  the  idea  of  a  steamboat  or  a 
locomotive  engine  upon  a  railway.  Nevertheless  it  appeared  abso 
lutely  necessary  to  the  most  reflecting  of  our  corps,  that  some  plan 
should  be  devised,  for  the  prevention  of  that  intemperance,  which 
was  becoming  rather  too  characteristic  among  the  gentlemen  of  the 
army.  We  therefore  resolved  to  make  no  use  of  brandy  for  one 
year.  A  few  of  us  set  the  example,  and  subscribed  an  agreement 
to  that  effect,  which  in  less  than  a  fortnight  was  signed  by  every 
officer  in  the  regiment.  It  was  proposed  to  include  rum,  and  offer 
the  paper  to  the  whole  regiment,  rank  and  file.  To  this  there  were 
serious  objections.  We,  at  that  time,  never  imagined  such  a  thing 
as  total  abstinence.  We  no  more  thought  of  cold  water  for  drink, 
than  of  raw  pork  for  diet.  Indeed  we  had  already  clubbed  our 
purses  for  the  purchase  of  a  suitable  quantity  of  wine.  It  seemed 
hardly  fair,  therefore,  as  the  common  soldiers  could  not  afford  the 
purchase  of  wine,  to  call  on  them  for  a  resignation  of  their  grog, 
offering  no  other  substitute  than  cold  water.  We  therefore 
limited  our  project  to  the  officers  of  the  regiment.  The  experi 
ment  went  into  immediate  operation.  We  tried  it  about  three 
months,  and  abandoned  it  in  utter  despair.  The  vice  oecame  more 
social ;  we  tarried  longer  over  the  bottle ;  we  became  more  talka 
tive,  disputatious,  and  even  quarrelsome  ;  and  I  well  remember  that 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL  259 

one  prominent  s  ibject-raatter  of  altercation  was  the  unaccountable 
facility,  with  which  our  whole  stock  of  wine  was  drunk  out.  We 
gave  it  up,  and  went  back  to  brandy."  —  "The  greatest  blessing 
inay  be  abused,  colonel,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny  :  "  we  have 
the  highest  authority  for  the  use  of  wine.  Paul  rec<  tnmended  it  to 
Timothy."  —  "  He  did,"  said  the  young  clergyman,  "  for  his  infirm 
ities  ;  let  wine  then  be  kept  for  the  sick,  if  it  be  thought  neces 
sary  by  the  faculty ;  and.  since  we  cannot  have  an  inspired  apostle 
at  our  elbows  to  prescribe  it,  let  us  abstain  from  its  employment, 
until  we  have  at  least  the  prescription  of  a  conscientious  temperance 
physician."  — "  We  have  a  higher  authority  than  Paul,  that  of 
Christ  himself,"  said  the  other.  —  "  Sir,"  said  the  young  man,  with 
great  solemnity  of  manner,  "  I  am  always  shocked  when  mere  men 
of  the  world  defend  their  habit  of  drinking  wine,  by  the  example  of 
our  blessed  Redeemer.  I  cannot  describe  my  feelings,  when  the 
practice  of  wine-drinking  is  defended  upon  the  strength  of  this  holy 
example,  by  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  It  is  not  possible  for  him  to 
set  up  his  authority  for  himself,  and  not  for  the  world  ;  for  the  most 
temperate,  and  not  for  the  most  intemperate  of  mankind.  He  may 
draw  nice  distinctions  ;  others  will  not.  The  authority,  if  applied  at 
all,  is  applied  universally ;  and  its  advantages  are  claimed  by  all,  if 
allowed  to  any.  Intemperance  is  a  gradual  affair,  from  the  first 
trifling  excess  to  the  grossest  debauchery.  The  transitions  are 
often  imperceptible,  by  him,  who  makes  them.  From  first  to  last, 
his  moral  vision  becoming  the  more  depraved,  the  further  he  ad 
vances,  the  intemperate  man  is  incapable  of  perceiving  any  differ 
ence  between  himself  and  his  more  temperate,  wine-drinking  neigh 
bor.  It  is  enough,  they  both  drink  wine ;  and  each  justifies  his 
conduct,  by  the  example  of  the  Redeemer.  Can  anything  be  con 
ceived  more  awfully  revolting  than  this?"  —  "  You  are  very  fluent, 
sir,  for  so  young  a  man,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny,  evidently 
nettled  by  the  remarks  of  his  younger  brother  ;  "  it  is  my  deliberate 
opinion,  that  he,  who  holds  there  is  any  impropriety  in  drinking 
wine,  insults  the  memory  of  his  Redeemer."  —  "I  regret  my  youth, 
sir,"  the  young  clergyman  replied,  "if  it  be  any  obstacle,  in  your 
estimation,  to  the  progress  of  sound  doctrine.  We  are  taught, 
however,  to  let  no  man  despise  it,  while  we  are  struggling  against 
any  opinion,  which  we  conscientiously  believe  to  be  heretical.  Ii 
seems  to  me  that  there  are  so  many  ways,  in  which  a  sincere  dis 
ciple  may  testify  his  love  and  reverence  for  his  Lord  and  Master, 
that  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to  resort  to  the  expedient  of  drinking 
wine.  We  may  preach  his  gospel  to  all  nations.  We  may  select 
some  barren  spot,  and  toil  over  the  moral  wilderness,  till  it  blossom 


360  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

like  the  rase.  We  may  take  upon  our  shoulders  the  smallest  frag 
ment  of  the  cross  ;  and  I  ask  you,  reverend  sir,  if  you  do  not  in 
your  heart  believe,  that  such  service  will  be  more  acceptable  to  our 
blessed  Master,  than  drinking  wine  to  his  honor  and  glory?" — • 
"  Young  man  !"  exclaimed  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny,  with  an  uplifted 
finger,  "  you  forget  yourself;  your  language  is  absolutely  irrev 
erent  and  impious."  —  "God  forbid,"  said  the  young  clergyman, 
with  an  expression  of  sincere  devotion  upon  his  features,  which 
impressed  me  and  all  around  him,  I  believe,  with  a  feeling  of 
respect  and  confidence ;  "  God  forbid,  sir,"  said  he,  "  that  I 
should  suffer  anything  irreverent  or  impious  to  pass  these  lip*, 
which  have  been  consecrated  to  the  service  of  Heaven.  If  there  be 
aught  in  my  remark,  which  savors  of  irreverence  or  impiety,  it 
springs  not  from  me  or  my  language,  but  arises  from  the  faithful 
exhibition  of  the  idea — the  idea  of  manifesting  one's  love  and  rev 
erence  for  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  by  drinking  wine!  If  this  be 
one  of  the  tasks,  imposed  upon  his  followers,  verily  the  burden  is 
light."  —  "  Pray,  sir,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  McNinny,  in  a  tone  some 
what  subdued,  for  he  already  began  to  perceive  that  his  antag 
onist  was  not  to  be  despised  ;  "  pray,  sir,"  said  he,  "  did  not  Christ 
convert  water  into  wine  at  the  wedding  feast  in  Cana  of  Galilee  ? 
Was  he  not  himself  a  guest,  and  was  not  the  wine,  which  he  made, 
furnished  in  abundance  at  that  festival,  and  with  his  entire  appro 
bation?" —  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  the  young  clergyman,  in 
expectation  of  his  reply.  He  seemed  overwhelmed  with  this  unex 
pected  interrogatory  ;  and,  for  some  time,  continued  to  bow  down 
his  head,  literally,  like  a  bulrush.  The  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny  had 
already  gathered  courage  from  the  apparent  confusion  of  his  antago 
nist,  and,  being  disposed  to  make  the  most  of  his  victory,  exclaimed, 
"  Well,  sir,  you  find  yourself  perplexed  for  an  answer,  I  see,  and  I 
lo  not  wonder  at  your  confusion,  young  man."  —  "I  am  not  per 
plexed  for  an  answer,"  said  the  young  clergyman,  in  a  melancholy 
tone  of  voice,  at  the  same  time  raising  his  eyes  upon  his  adversary. 
We  were  all  greatly  surprised  to  perceive  that  they  were  filled  with 
tears,  and  a  feverish  glow  had  suddenly  spread  itself  over  his  pale 
features. — "  I  am  in  no  confusion,  reverend  sir,"  continued  he  ; 
"  but  you  have  approached  a  subject  of  deeper  and  more  painful 
interest  to  me  than  you  can  possibly  imagine."  —  At  this  moment 
the  bell  announced  that  dinner  was' upon  the  table.  ''  If  you  con 
ceive  it  to  be  worth  your  trouble,  sir,"  continued  the  young  clergy 
man,  "to  give  any  farther  attention  to  my  remarks,  and  will  meet 
me  here  after  our  repast,  I  foresee,  at  this  momeni,  no  insurmount 
able  difficulty  in  the  way  of  furnishing  a  satisfactory  reply  to  youi 
interrogatories."  —  "  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  other. 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  261 

The  group  instantly  dispersed ;  and,  whatever  migl  i  have  been 
the  diversity  of  opinion,  respecting  the  subject  under  discussion,  the 
mcst  perfect  unanimity  appeared  now  to  prevail.  All,  with  one 
consent,  rushed  down  the  companion-way  into  the  cabin,  and  we 
soon  found  our  places,  round  the  well-furnished  table  of  the  steamer. 
I  had  Colonel  Byerly,  on  my  right  hand,  and  our  honest  friend  from 
Boon's  Lick  had  taken  his  place,  upon  my  left.  "  Colonel  Byerly," 
said  I,  "do  you  know  the  name  of  this  young  man?"  —  "  No,  sir," 
ne  replied,  "  but  our  friend,  M'Ninny,  had  better  not  have  meddled 
with  him;  he  has  gotten  his  hands  full,  if  I  am  not  greatly  mis 
taken."  —  "  Colonel,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  "  an't  he  a  smart  un? 
don't  he  hold  on  jest  like  a  bear-trap,  don't  he,  colonel?"  —  "  He  is 
*n  intelligent  young  man,  friend  Kennedy,"  replied  the  colonel; 
''  I  never  saw  him  before."  — "He  seemed  to  hang  fire  a  leetle 
nite,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  "tow'rds  the  last  on 't,  but  my  old 
dfle  will  do  jest  so,  now  and  then,  and  there's  no  better  in  old 
Kentuck."  — "No,  no,  Kennedy,"  said  Colonel  Byerly,  "he 
didn't  hang  fire,  as  you  call  it,  but  he  reserved  his  fire,  as  we 
military  folks  phrase  it.  M'Ninny  was  mistaken  in  the  supposition, 
which  he  evidently  indulged,  that  his  opponent  was  perplexed  by 
his  questions.  Something,  I  know  not  what,  affected  the  young 
man's  feelings  in  a  very  sudden  and  extraordinary  manner.  I  know 
not  who  he  is.  He  may  be  the  worse  clothed  and  fed  of  the  two  ; 
but  if  our  friend  M'Ninny  will  only  stand  fire  this  afternoon,  he  '11 
get  grape  and  canister  to  his  heart's  content,  or  I  have  mistaken  my 
-nan  entirely."  —  "I'm  afeard,  colonel,"  said  the  Kentuckian, 
''  that  tother  bird  '11  show  the  white  feather,  may  be  won't  come  up 
to  the  scratch  at  all,  ey,  colonel?"  —  "Never  fear  him  for  that, 
Kennedy,"  replied  Colonel  Byerly.  "  True  courage  clearly  fore 
sees  and  deliberately  weighs  the  peril  it  encounters ;  rashness  rushes 
to  the  onset  without  care  or  calculation.  I  know  the  character  of 
our  reverend  fiiend  right  well :  he  will  not  shun  the  contest,  depend 
upon  it."  —  "Well,  colonel,  like  as  not  you're  right,"  said  the 
Kentuckian;  "there's  my  old  sorrel;  he's  blind  as  a  beetle, 
stubborn  as  a  mule,  stupid  as  an  ass,  and  bold  as  a  lion.  Off  he 
goes,  slap  dash,  and  fetches  up  in  a  ditch,  nine  times  out  o'  ten." 
—  "The  reverend  gentleman,"  said  I,  "appears  to  be  fortifying 
for  the  occasion."  — "  Fags,  stranger,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  "  and 
so  he  is  ;  he  's  a  drinkin  wine  or  sothen,  accordin  to  Script  ur."  — 
We  glanced  our  eyes  along  the  table,  at  which  some  sixty  passen 
gers  were  seated  ;  only  one  of  the  whole  company  had  ca  Jed  for 
my  intoxicating  beverage ;  the  only  decanter  upon  the  board  was 
before  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny.  Shortly  after,  it  was  brought  round 


262  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL, 

by  the  waiter,  with  the  reverend  gentleman's  compliments  to 
Colonel  Byerly,  and  a  request  to  take  wine  with  him.  "  Return  11 
to  the  gentleman  with  my  respects,"  said  Colonel  Byerly,  "  and 
say,  that,  with  his  permission,  I  will  pledge  him  in  a  glass  of 
water."  —  "Well  done,  colonel!"  cried  the  Kentuckian,  "  if  I 
don't  tell  our  folks  o'  that !  How  my  old  Jarman  neighhor,  Snoo- 
dur,  who  's  all  for  temp'rance,  will  shout,  when  he  hears  that  an 
old  revolutioner  wouldn't  drink  wine  with  a  minister  o'  the  gospel, 
accordin  to  Scriptur !  ha,  ha,  ha!"  —  "Such  incidents  as  these," 
said  I,  "  have  an  injurious  influence  upon  the  clerical  character, 
and,  with  the  undiscriminating  mass,  upon  the  cause  of  religion 
itself."  —  "  No  doubt  of  it,"  replied  Colonel  Byerly  ;  "  you  see  how 
it  is  ;  having  taken  the  prominent  position,  which  he  has  assumed, 
during  the  morning,  all  eyes  are,  at  this  moment,  directed  towards 
him  and  his  decanter.  In  the  present  condition  of  public  sentiment, 
such  conduct  appears  to  me  exceedingly  unfortunate  in  a  minister 
of  the  gospel.  If  it  appears  so  to  me,  who  am  not  a  member  of  the 
Temperance  Society,  how  must  it  appear  to  those  who  are  —  a 
clergyman,  himself  a  member  of  the  society,  drinking  his  wine,  in 
one  of  our  great,  locomotive  taverns  —  at  the  public  table  of  a 
steamboat !  This  is  something  worse  than  a  mere  work  of  super 
erogation." —  "Well,  colonel,  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  a  work 
'tis,"  said  the  Kentuckiaji,  "  but  I  do  know  this  gentleman  and  our 
Parson  Roundy  would  go  together  in  double  harness,  as  kind  as 
any  two  old  stagers  that  ever  you  see.  You  heer'd  what  he  said 
about  wine  at  the  wedding.  Well,  there  was  a  wedding  at  Parson 
Roundy's  house,  about  five  months  ago;  'twas  jest  arter  our  Total 
Abstinence  Society  had  got  under  way,  and  was  purty  pop'lar 
among  our  folks.  About  twenty  o'  their  frinds  got  together,  with 
the  bride  and  bridegroom  ;  they  was  all  youngish  people.  So  when 
Parson  Roundy  had  married  'em,  he  goes  into  his  closet,  and  out 
he  comes  with  his  face  as  round  and  shiny,  as  the  lid  of  a  bran  new 
warming-pan,  holdin  in  his  hand  a  sarver  with  glasses  and  a  decanter 
o'  wine.  So,  ye  see,  he  pours  out  a  couple  o'  glasses,  and  hands 
one  on  'em  to  the  bride,  and  t'  other  to  the  bridegroom.  '  I  'm  not 
peticlar  about  takin  any,'  said  the  bride.  '  No  occasion  for  any, 
thankee,  sir,'  said  the  bridegroom.  Parson  Roundy  hemm'd  as 
rough  as  a  saw-mill ;  he  always  does  when  he  's  put  out ;  so  on  he 
went,  handin  the  liquor  to  one  arter  another,  till  he  "d  got  through 
the  hull  boodle  on  'em ;  and  not  a  mother's  son  nor  darter  ->vould 
touch  the  valley  of  a  spunful.  '  Well,'  said  he,  as  gruffly  as  a 
bull-frog  with  the  throat  distemper,  '  I  should  suppose  you  were  all 
of  ye  membe  -s  of  tl e  cold-water  society.'  — '  I  b'lieve  we  he,  sir,' 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  263 

said  one  on  'em,  with  a  giggle,  as  she  looked  round  upon  the  rest 
1  Yes,  Parson  Roundy,'  said  the  bridegroom,  '  we  thought  as  how 
we  should  be  as  well  off  .not  to  meddle  with  edge  tools ;  so  Jerusha 
and  I  signed  the  pledge  afore  we  got  married!'  —  Parson  Round} 
did  n't  like  it ;  he  looked  like  a  red  pepper.  So  what  d'  ye  think  he 
does ;  he  call'd  in  his  two  young  children,  and  he  told  each  on  'em 
to  drink  the  health  o'  the  bride  and  bridegroom.  There,  colonel, 
what  d'  ye  think  o'  that?"  —  "  Why,  I  think,"  replied  the  colonel, 
"  that  your  Parson  Roundy  must  be  a  terrible  blockhead." 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  said  a  gentleman,  who  sat  directly  opposite  to  us 
at  the  table,  addressing  Colonel  Byerly,  "  I  believe  you  were 
desirous  of  knowing  the  name  of  the  young  clergyman,  who  was 
engaged  this  morning  in  the  discussion  with  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny." 

—  "Can  you  inform  us?"  inquired  the  colonel.     "  His  name,  sir," 
replied  the  other,  "  is  Egerton.     He  was  settled,  about  three  years 
ago,  over  a  small  parish  in  the  village  of .     He  is  an  excel 
lent  young  man.     You  remarked,  sir,  that  he  might  not  be  so  well 
clothed  or  fed  as'his  antagonist.     He  is  poor,  yet  making  many  rich. 
His  ministry  has  been  followed  by  God's  blessing  in  a  remarkable 
manner.      His  humble  flock  are  very  strongly   attached  to  him. 
They  have  clubbed  their  little  offerings  together,  and  thereby  sup 
plied  the  means  of  travelling,  and  they  have  compelled  him  to  take 
a  respite  from  his  labors.     With  his  salary,  —  and  it  is  very  small, 

—  he  maintains  a  mother  and  sister,  both  in  infirm  health.     His 
sister  has  labored,  for  some  years,  under  a  distressing  melancholy, 
and  has  appeared,  at  times,  to  have  lost  her  reason  entirely.     You 
may  see  them  now  sitting  together  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table." 

We  turned  our  eyes  upon  the  group  ;  and  readily  recognized  Mr. 
Egerton,  whom  we  had  not  noticed  before,  since  we  took  our  seats 
at  the  table.  He  was  placed  between  an  elderly  lady,  some  five- 
and-sixty  years  of  age,  who  appeared  quite  infirm,  and  one  about 
twenty-eight  or  thirty,  whose  whole  appearance  attracted  our  partic 
ular  attention.  1  thought  I  had  never  seen  the  marks  and  numbers 
of  settled  melancholy,  more  firmly  riveted  upon  the  human  coun 
tenance.  "  She  has  been  very  beautiful,"  said  Colonel  Byerly. — 
"  She  retains  something  of  her  former  appearance,"  said  our  in 
tbrmant.  "  I  remember  the  time,  when  Margaret  Egerton  wai 
decidedly  the  most  lovely  creature  I  ever  beheld,  and  that  was  not 
many  years  ago.  She  had  a  fine  color  then,  but  she  is  now,  as  you 
see,  exceedingly  pale  ;  her  features  have  become  sharpened,  and  hei 
eyes,  which  were  uncommonly  fine,  are  now  seldom  turned  upor 
those  cf  any  other."  —  We  looked  upon  this  young  woman  with 
increasing  interest.  The  arrangement  of  her  dress  and  hair  wore 


264  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

certain  slight  indications  of  negligence,  which,  while  they  offended 
not  at  all  against  the  laws  of  propriety,  seemed  silently  to  say  — 
"  Pride  is  not,  and  hope  has  gone."  Her  eyes  seemed  fixed  on 
vacancy,  while  with  her  finger  she  appeared  to  be  tracing  unmean 
ing  characters  upon  the  table  before  her.  "  Can  any  cause  be 
assigned,"  said  I,  addressing  our  informant,  "  for  this  young  lady's 
melancholy  ?"  —  "  Yes,  sir,"  he  replied.  "  Her  story  is  a  sad  one. 
and  the  circumstances  are  well  known  to  me ;  but  it  would  be  im 
possible  to  give  you  any  satisfactory  account  of  it,  situated  as  we 
are,  at  this  moment."  —  "Colonel  Byerly,"  said  the  Kentuckian. 
"  I  'm  a  thinkin  it  '11  be  hardly  a  fair  scratch  to  pit  them  two  agin 
each  other.  That  young  man  looks  jest  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  as 
streaked  as  a  'possum  that 's  been  kept  on  short  allowance  all  win 
ter;  and  the  t'other  —  there,  only  see,  he's  takin  another  glass  — 
I  Ve  seen  him  take  three  —  I  wonder  where  he  finds  Scriptur  for  all 
that  —  only  look  at  him  ;  he  's  a  gettin  the  steam  up  purty  consid 
erable,  I  tell  ye  —  how  faarce  he  looks  !  —  I  would  n't  like  to  be  one 
o'  five  alligators  to  match  him,  no  time  o'  day.  Don't  ye  think, 
colonel,  when  they  both  go  up  and  git  at  it,  if  the  old  un  's  gittin 
the  young  un  on  the  hip,  or  the  like  o'  that,  'twould  be  a  kind  o' 
charitable  for  me  to  let  off  a  leetle,  and  kittle  the  old  feller  a  mite, 
'twixt  the  joints  o'  the  harness,  ey,  colonel?" — "  Let  them  have 
a  fair  field,  friend  Kennedy,"  replied  Colonel  Byerly.  "Neither 
make  nor  meddle.  I  have  seen  pale  faces,  in  my  time,  in  the  thick 
est  of  the  fight.  You  can  no  more  judge  of  a  man's  courage  by 
his  complexion  than  of  a  horse's  wind  and  bottom  by  the  length  of 
his  tail."  —  "Haw,  haw,  haw,  now,  colonel,"  cried  the  Kentuck 
ian,  "  you  'd  eenamost  set  a  skillinton  a  larfin."  —  "  You  remember 
Pincher,  the  little  drummer,  don't  you!"  said  Colonel  Byerly. — 
"  Remember  him  !"  said  Kennedy  ;  "  why,  I  seed  him  last  week  : 
he  's  one  o'  my  next  neighbors,  only  four-and-twenty  miles  above. 
He  always  speaks  o'  you  with  great  respect,  colonel.  He  's  in  the 
drovin  line  now ;  he  told  me,  t'  other  day,  when  I  met  him,  nigh 
Little  Hockin,  where  he  was  arter  critturs,  that  he  'd  give  a  prime 
beef  if  he  could  only  git  a  grip  o'  Colonel  Byerly 's  hand  once  more 
afore  he  died."  — "Did  he  really?"  said  the  colonel,  with  an  ex 
pression  of  grateful  emotion.  "  That  was  more  than  I  expected  of 
Pincher.  I  've  ordered  him  a  dozen,  more  than  once,  well  laid  on, 
for  robbing  a  hen-roost.  He  was  the  biggest  thief  in  the  army.  1 
suppose  the  poor  fellow  has  not  forgotten  the  good  turn  I  did  him 
on  one  occasion.  I  know  not  how  much  he  has  altered  in  his  appear 
ance  since  then."  —  "  He  's  older,  o'  course,"  said  the  Kentuckian, 
"  gray  as  a  badger,  thin  as  a  raal  weasel,  and  jest  as  pale  as  a 


MARGARETS   BKfDAL.  265 

white  fish.  I  don't  reckon  he 's  altered  a  mite  these  twenty  years. 
tie  's  got  the  very  drum  he  beat  in  the  old  war.  Somebody  stole 
one  o'  the  sticks,  and  you  never  see  sich  a  tonse  as  he  made  about 
it.  The  old  man  gets  his  drum  out  the  fourth  o'  July,  afore  light, 
and  drums  all  round  town,  like  all  possessed,  followed  by  every  boy 
and  dog  in  the  village."  —  "  Well,"  said  Colonel  Byerly,  "  he  was 
she  most  contemptible  piece  of  humanity,  to  look  upon,  the  meanest 
ind  the  most  forlorn,  that  we  had  in  our  regiment ;  pale,  diminu 
tive,  downcast  in  the  extreme.  He  beat  an  excellent  drum,  and 
this  seemed  to  be  the  best  of  him.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  he  had 
the  courage  of  a  real  dragon.  He  had  a  great  friendship  for  Tim 
Hendricks,  a  fifer  in  the  same  company.  At  the  horrible  affair  of 
the  Miami  villages,  where  St.  Clair  was  routed,  poor  Hendricks 
was  shot  dead  by  an  Indian,  who  sprang  forward  to  take  his  scalp. 
Pincher  flew  at  him,  and  I  saw  him,  with  my  own  eyes,  run  the 
Indian  through  with  the  sword  in  his  right  hand,  while  he  still  kept 
up  rattling  a  charge  on  his  drum  with  the  other.  But  the  tables 
were  about  being  turned  upon  poor  Pincher.  Three  or  four  of  the 
Sioux,  who  saw  their  comrade  fall,  rushed  at  once  upon  the  poor 
drummer.  After  a  vigorous  defence  of  himself,  for  a  very  brief 
space,  against  the  first  assailant,  he  perceived  that  there  was  no 
chance  for  him  against  such  fearful  odds ;  and  he  began  to  think, 
that  his  legs,  though  not  much  bigger,  might  be  of  more  service  to 
him,  at  that  period,  than  his  drum-sticks.  He  instantly  turned 
to  run.  The  Indian,  lifting  his  tomahawk,  sprang  forward,  and 
seized  him  by  the  hair.  Pincher,  it  seems,  wore  a  wig.  I  never 
suspected  it  before.  'This  remained  in  the  hand  of  the  astonished 
Indian  ;  and  to  this  circumstance  alone  the  poor  drummer  owed  his 
preservation  at  that  moment.  The  other  Indians,  however,  were 
pressing  upon  his  heels.  I  witnessed  the  scene  at  a  short  distance, 
and,  with  two  or  three  riflemen  who  were  near  me,  hastened  to  the 
spot,  and  rescued  the  poor  fellow  from  his  peril,  which  certainly 
was  imminent.  When  you  see  Pincher,  do  not  forget  to  tell  him 
that  I  have  recently  heard  news  of  his  wig.  The  identical  Sioux, 
who  took  Pincher's  wig  at  St.  Glair's  defeat,  was  seen  with  the 
wig  upon  his  head,  not  many  years  ago,  by  Mr.  Flint,  the  author 
of  Recollections  in  the  Valley  of  the  Mississippi.*  A  very  pale  face 
and  a  very  stout  heart,"  continued  the  colonel,  "are  not  unfre- 
quently  found  in  the  same  individual.  I  recollect  a  remarkable 
illustration  of  this  truth,  which  occurred  during  Queen  Anne's 
wars.  The  Earl  of  Stair  had  obtained  some  successes  over  the 

*  Flint's  "  Recollections,"  &c.,  p.  155. 
TOL.    II.  23 


266  MARGARET'S  BRIDAI 

French,  and,  on  the  very  day  of  the  battJ  j,  some  of  the  captured 
French  officers  were  invited  by  his  lordship  to  dinner,  in  his  quarters. 
One  of  them,  a  French  colonel  of  infantry,  differing  from  the  earl, 
in  regard  to  some  particular  incident  of  the  battle,  the  earl  called 
upon  his  aide-de-camp,  Lord  Mark  Kerr,  for  a  confirmation  of 
his  statement.  Lord  Mark  was  a  very  small  man,  with  a  very 
pale  face,  wholly  unattractive  to  the  eye,  and  one  of  the  very  last 
men,  whom  you  would  have  chosen,  on  the  strength  of  his  per 
sonal  appearance,  if  you  had  been  in  search  of  a  cjjevalier.  He 
very  fully  confirmed  the  statement  of  his  uncle,  the  Earl  of  Stair. 
Whereupon  the  French  officer,  in  some  way  or  other,  without  the 
employment  of  any  particularly  offensive  expression,  contrived  to 
offer  him  an  insult.  Frenchmen  are  very  clever  at  this,  you  know  ; 
without  uttering  a  syllable,  they  can  convey  an  insult,  by  a  shrug 
of  the  shoulder,  or  in  the  very  manner,  in  which  they  take  a  pinch 
of  snuff,  in  your  presence.  Lord  Mark  Kerr  took  not  the  least 
apparent  notice  of  the  occurrence.  An  unpleasant  sensation,  how 
ever,  was  produced,  and  the  entertainment  passed  off  rather  dryly  to 
the  close.  About  three  quarters  of  an  hour  after  all  the  company 
had  departed,  Lord  Mark  returned  alone.  He  found  his  uncle 
walking  to  and  fro,  with  an  anxious  countenance.  '  Nephew,'  said 
he,  *  it  is  inexpressibly  painful  to  me,  by  any  suggestion  of  mine,  to 
lead  one,  whom  I  love  so  truly,  into  peril.  You  know  my  abhor 
rence  of  these  rules  of  honor.  I  wish  they  were  abolished  by  com 
mon  consent,  and  others,  founded  in  common  sense,  substituted  in 
their  stead.  But,  as  it  is,  it  is  utterly  impossible  for  military  men. 
at  the  present  day,  to  permit  an  insult  to  pass  with  impunity.  The 
French  colonel  offered  you  a  direct  insult,  at  my  table,  to-day. 
Every  one  perceived  it.'  —  'Give  yourself  no  uneasiness  on  that 
account,  my  lord,'  replied  his  nephew ;  '  I  have  called  him  to  account. 
—  They  are  now  burying  him  in  the  outer  court.'*  I  will  give  you 
another  remarkable  example.  In  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and 

"  —  "  Colonel,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  rising  from  his  seat, 

"  s'pose  you  put  that  off  till  arter  supper ;  it  '11  be  hog  and  hom'ny 
to  me  to  hear  ye  talk  it  over  about  the  revolutioners,  till  midnight. 
But  ye  see  they  're  all  gone  up,  and  I  reckon,  by  the  noise  over- 
pead,  they've  got  at  it."  —  "True,  true,"  said  Colonel  Byeily 
"  I  had  quite  forgot  it ;  let  us  go  up." 

We  were  soon  upon  the  deck.  The  noise  appeared  to  be  occa 
sioned  by  a  fellow,  whose  bloated  countenance  and  shabby  garments 
ot'  the  most  fashionable  cut  withal,  were  evidently  the  insigni?  ol 

*  Wraxall's  "  Memoirs." 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  26? 

dissipation  and  dirt.  He  was  surrounded  by  a  goodly  number  of 
the  passengers,  who  were  listening  to  his  song.  I  observed  Parson 
M'Ninny,  not  within  the  circle  precisely,  but  within  hearing,  lean 
ing  over  the  tafferel,  and  smoking  a  cigar.  When  this  wretched 
singer  of  vicious  doggerel  came  to  the  chorus,  which  was  of  frequent 
occurrence,  the  eyes  of  the  whole  group  were  turned  upon  the  Rev. 
Mr.  M'Ninny.  I  caught  the  last  words  — 

"  He  '11  chat  with  a  lass, 

And  he  '11  take  off  his  glass, 
And  he  is  the  parson  for  me." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Colonel  Byerly,  as  we  turned  away  in  disgust, 
"this  is  all  perfectly  fair;  if  a  clergyman,  in  the  present  condition 
of  public  sentiment,  purified  as  it  is,  on  certain  subjects,  will  take 
his  glass  and  his  cigar,  and  openly  defend  the  practice,  he  gets  no 
more  than  his  deserts."  —  Our  Kentucky  friend  soon  reported,  that 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Egerton  was  nowhere  upon  deck.  I  had  therefore  no 
other  occupation  than  gazing  upon  the  beautiful  river,  and  the  scenery 
around,  and  listening  to  the  interesting  remarks  of  my  new  acquaint 
ances.  "  Really,"  said  Colonel  Byerly.  "  we  have  made  more  pro 
gress  than  I  supposed ;  we  have  gotten  below  the  Big  Guyundat, 
haven't  we?" — "  To  be  sure,"  replied  Kennedy;  "  we're  nigh  upon 
Old  Kentuck;  there,  stranger,"  he  continued,  turning  to  me,  "that 
are  fine  stream  ye  see,  comin  in  from  the  left  side,  is  the  Great  Sandy ; 
some  folks  call  it  the  Tottery  River ;  when  we  pass  the  mouth  on  't, 
we  '11  be  along  side  of  Old  Kentuck.  That  river  's  the  boundary 
'twixt  Kentuck  and  Virginny.  We  '11  then  be  jest  forty-five  miles 
below  Galliopolis.  When  the  lawyers  made  them  French  frogs  hop 
off  in  a  hurry,  congress  took  pity  on  'em,  and  gin  'em  a  restin-place, 
a  leetle  further  down  ;  we  han't  come  to 't  yet.  It's  on  t'other 
side.  None  on  'em  come  to  Kentuck.  The  colonel  can  tell  ye  all 
about  that,  stranger:  it 's  on  his  side  o'  the  river."  —  ".Yes,"  said 
Colonel  Byerly,  "  the  French  emigrants  were  settled  afterwards 
about  Burrsburgh,  which  we  shall  come  to  presently,  on  the  right 
bank.  The  town  was  laid  out  by  Jean  Gabriel  Gervais,  whom  1 
remember  well,  and  was  part  of  a  tract  of  twenty-four  thousand 
acres  granted  them  by  congress." 

A.t  this  moment,  some  one  near  us  said,  "He's  coming  up;" 
and,  looking  round,  we  perceived  Mr.  Egerton,  the  young  clergy 
man,  ascending  from  the  cabin,  and  advancing  slowly  towards  the 
after  deck.  The  group  soon  became  aware  of  his  approach. 
'  Mark  the  difference,"  said  Colonel  Byerly  ;  "  they  have  already 
learned  to  respect  him  witness  the  effect  of  his  presence!"  —  It 


268  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

was  even  so  ;  the  song  had  ceased  ;  the  shabby  performer  Lad  slunk 
away  ;  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  every  countenance  had  assumed 
a  graver  expression  ;  and  even  Parson  M' Ninny  had  thrown  his 
unfinished  cigar  into  the  Ohio,  and,  having  hastily  adjusted  the  collar 
of  his  dicky,  and  brushed  the  tobacco  embers  from  his  waistcoat, 
rose  at  his  approach.* 

"  I  should  have  paid  my  respects  to  you  before,  sir,"  said  the 
young  clergyman,  addressing  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny,  "  but  some 
friends,  who  are  in  feeble  health,  required  my  attention.  I  have 
come,  rather  to  redeem  my  pledge,  than  with  any  expectation  of 
producing  or  experiencing  a  change  of  sentiment  in  you  or  myself. 
I  have  no  desire,  in  this  discussion  to  argue  for  victory.  The  subject 

is  certainly  an  important  one,  and "  —  "  Well,  well,  sir,"  said 

his  opponent,  with  some  impatience,  "  the  preface  is  certainly  long 
enough  already  ;  you  can  proceed,  and  I  will  hear  what  you  have 
to  say,  if  you  will  confine  yourself  within  reasonable  bounds."  — 
The  Rev.  Mr.  M' Ninny's  face  was  considerably  flushed  ;  his  brow 
was  clouded ;  and  his  words  were  indistinctly  and  sluggishly  uttered 
His  reply  to  Mr.  Egerton  was  so  discourteous,  that  Colonel  Byerly, 
whose  prompt  and  open  temper,  and  sincere  respect  for  the  rights 
of  others,  ever  induced  him  to  side  with  the  aggrieved,  could  no 
longer  keep  silence.  "  Mr.  M'Ninny,"  said  he,  "  this  young  gen 
tleman  is  a  stranger  to  me  ;  but  I  was  so  much  gratified,  by  his 
manner  of  treating  the  subject,  this  morning,  that,  with  your  per 
mission,  I  should  be  pleased  to  listen  to  his  remarks,  without  any 
other  limitation,  in  regard  to  time,  than  such  as  his  own  sense  of 
propriety  may  indicate."  —  "Ditto  to  Colonel  Byerly,"  said  the 
Kentuckian.  —  A  murmur  of  approbation  ran  through  the  assembled 
group.  "  Certainly,  certainly,  most  assuredly,  Colonel  Byerly," 
said  Mr.  M'Ninny,  with  sundry  salaams  ;  "please  to  proceed,  sir. 
,  [  have  quite  forgotten  at  what  point  we  broke  off  this  morning."  — 
•'You  were  alluding,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Egerton,  "to  the  miracle  at 
Cana,  and  you  proposed  certain  questions.  I  will  now  answer  those 
questions  ;  or,  rather,  I  will  endeavor  to  answer  the  argument, 
which  you  intended,  by  those  questions,  to  convey.  Certainly  our 
Saviour  converted  water  into  wine,  upon  that  occasion  ;  he  was 
present,  and,  if  you  please,  a  guest ;  and,  though  we  know  not  the 
/act,  it  is  quite  probable  he  partook  of  the  miraculous  beverage.  It 
is  your  object  to  employ  this  act  of  our  Saviour,  as  a  precedent. 
TD  authorize  any  act  by  a  precedent,  the  act  to  be  sustained  must 

*  "  Turn,  pietate  gravem  ac  meritis  si  forte  virum  quern 
ConspexAre,  silent,  arrectisque  auribus  adstant ; 
Isl.e  regit  dictis  ammos,  et  pectora  mulcet."  —  ./En.  I.  r.  151. 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  269 

conform  to  the  precede  nt.  If  our  Lord  took  wine  at  a  wedding,  this 
surely  is  no  precedent  for  my  taking  it,  on  other  occasions,  at  home 
and  abroad,  in  taverns  and  steam-boats.  Then,  again,  it  is  not  pre 
tended,  nor  can  it  be  presumed,  that  the  wine  at  Cana  differed  in 
strength  from  other  wine,  used  at  that  time,  in  Galilee.  Of  course 
it  could  not  be  a  mixture  of  the  fermented  juice  of  the  grape  and 
distilled  spirit.  Yet  such  is  the  wine  commonly  drunken  at  wed 
dings  and  upon  most  other  occasions  ;  and  I  doubt,  sir,  if,  especially 
at  weddings,  you  ever  drank  any  other  wine,  than  such  as  contained 
a  very  considerable  proportion  of  distilled  spirit  —  a  thing  unused 
and  unknown  in  our  Saviour's  time  upon  earth.  The  precedent, 
therefore,  cannot  apply,  unless  we  employ  the  same  unenforced  wine 
as  was  at  that  time  in  use.  Besides,  there  was  nothing  like  a 
command,  at  Cana,  to  take  wine.  The  guests  might  take  it,  or  not, 
as  they  pleased."  —  "Very  well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  M'Ninny,  "that 
is  just  the  thing,  for  which  we  contend  at  the  present  day."  —  "I 
have  already  remarked,"  continued  Mr.  Egerton,  "  that  the  wjne  at 
Cana  was,  beyond  all  doubt,  a  very  different  thing  from  modern 
wine,  a  more  pure  and  a  much  less  fiery  beverage.  Nevertheless, 
as  it  was  undoubtedly  an  intoxicating  beverage,  after  fermentation 
had  taken  place,  I  am  by  no  means  disposed  to  rest  the  argument 
upon  this  circumstance  alone.  When  we  propose  the  pledge  of 
total  abstinence,  we  are  very  frequently  opposed  by  this  objection  — 
our  Saviour  made  wine,  at  Cana,  and  therefore  —  for  such  is  the 
absurd  conclusion  —  we  ought  not  to  abandon  the  use  of  wine  mixed 
with  distilled  spirit,  as  all  modern  wine  is  well  known  to  be,  with 
exceptions  too  unimportant  and  too  rare  to  require  notice.  Because 
our  Saviour  made  such  wine  as  the  wine  at  Cana,  and  presented  it 
to  the  guests,  at  a  wedding  feast,  it  is  highly  improper  to  propose 
the  relinquishment  of  our  modern  enforced  wine  upon  other  occa 
sions  !  Total  abstinence  from  all  intoxicating  liquors  must  there 
fore  be  deemed  impracticable,  because  our  Saviour  once  set  the  mild 
wine  of  Galilee  before  the  guests  at  a  wedding  feast !  Though  our 
blessed  Master  did  not  command  them  to  drink  that  wine,  he,  upon 
another  occasion,  did  absolutely  command  us  to  abstain  from  drunk 
enness.  Now,  it  is  truly  believed,  by  a  very  large  and  daily  increas 
ing  number  of  our  fellow-men,  that  we  can  more  effectually  obey 
this,  our  Lord's  most  positive  command,  by  totally  abstaining  from 
all  intoxicating  liquors,  than  in  any  other  manner.  Suppose  we 
were  permitted  to  plead  the  infirmity  of  our  nature  before  our  divine 
Master,  and  ask  if  we  might  not  be  permitted,  in  aid  of  our  weak 
ness,  to  avoid  these  fountains  of  temptation  in  every  rorm.  Would 
he  be  very  likely  to  refuse  our  importunity,  if  we  were  really  ID 
VOL.  n.  23* 


270  MARGARET'S  BR1I  AL. 

earnest,  and  remind  us  that  the  whole  question  \vas  settled  at  th« 
marriage  of  Cana  in  Galilee,  and  that  total  abstinence  from  wine  was 
therefore  offensive  in  his  sight  ?  If  such  a  supposition  be  not  the 

very  height  of  absurdity "  —  "  my  name  an't  Boon  Kennedy," 

cried  the  Kentuckian,  who  had  become  deeply  interested  in  the  argu 
ment.  "  Beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  interruptin  on  ye,"  continued 
"he,  "  but  I  couldn't  hold  in  jest  at  that  minnit." 

A  short  pause  ensued.  "  I  desire  not  to  be  one  of  those,  who  are 
more  nice  than  wise,"  said  Mr.  M'Ninny,  "and  I  would  caution 
you  in  regard  to  the  danger  of  being  overwise,  or  wise  above  what 
is  written." — Mr.  Egerton,  after  a  short  silence,  during  which  a 
faint  smile  played  upon  his  pale  features,  expressive  of  his  convic 
tion  that  no  further  reply  was  required  from  him,  proceeded  as  fol  - 
lows :  —  "I  suggested,  this  morning,  when  you  first  alluded  to  the 
circumstance  of  taking  wine  at  a  wedding,  that  you  could  not  be 
aware  you  had  touched  a  chord  of  the  most  painful  interest  to  me. 
Such,  however,  was  the  fact.  Since  our  short  separation  I  have 
asked  myself,  if  I  ought  not  to  make  a  considerable  personal  sacri 
fice  of  my  own  feelings,  for  the  benefit  of  others ;  and  I  have  de 
cided,  that  I  ought  so  to  do.  If  you  have  no  better  employment,  my 
friends,  than  to  listen  to  a  narrative,  which  may  prove,  in  some  of 
its  details,  not  altogether  uninteresting,  and  which  perhaps  may 
furnish  a  profitable  warning  for  some  of  you,  I  will  trespass  upon 
your  patience  still  further."  —  The  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny  drew  out  his 
watch,  with  great  formality,  and  began  to  gape.  "  You  may  about 
as  well  put  up  your  tarnip,  stranger,"  said  the  Kentuckian,  who 
had  observed  the  action  ;  "  this  'ere  young  man  an't  agoin  to  run 
agin  time,  and  them  what's  sleepish  may  as  well  turn  in.  Won't 
ye  please  to  go  ahead,  sir,"  turning  to  Mr.  Egerton.  —  "  We  shall 
listen  to  your  narrative,"  said  Colonel  Byerly,  "  I  doubt  not,  with 
pleasure  and  profit." 

"  We  frequently  err,  I  am  well  aware,"  continued  Mr.  Egerton, 
"  in  the  supposition,  that  certain  occurrences  must  be  interesting  to 
all  the  world,  because  they  are  so  to  ourselves.  If  the  simple  nar 
rative,  which  I  am  about  to  relate,  should  be  found  wearisome  t» 
any  one  of  you,  my  friends,  I  shall  not  take  it  amiss,  if  the  number 
of  my  auditors  should  become  less  and  less,  as  I  proceed  in  the  rela 
tion. —  Among  the  playmates  of  my  earliest  years,  there  was  one, 
to  whom  I  was  attached,  for  various  considerations,  more  firmly  than 
to  any  other.  Our  parents  were  farmers,  and  their  estates  were 
separated  by  a  winding  brook,  which,  although  easily  forded  by 
elder  boys,  was  a  perfect  Rubicon  to  George  Morgan  and  myself, 
when  our  acquaintance  began.  There  was  a  rock  in  the  middle  of 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  27 

this  run  of  water,  and  I  well  remember  the  period  cf  my  existence, 
when  it  seemed  to  George  and  to  me,  as  we  stood  upon  our  respec 
tive  sides  of  this  mighty  barrier,  negotiating  an  exchange  between  a 
bunch  of  daisies  and  a  straw  of  thimbleberries,  that  our  ambition,  in 
this  present  world,  would  be  gratified  to  its  utmost  possible  limit,  if 
we  could  contrive  a  plan  to  get  upon  that  rock,  and,  according  to  tho 
phraseology  of  our  cottage,  eat  our  dippers  together.  Old  Stubbs, 
a  negro  man,  who  had  been  long  in  the  service  of  Farmer  Morgan, 
and  who  was  extremely  fond  of  little  George,  comprehending  our 
wishes,  placed  a  board  from  each  bank  to  the  midway  rock,  over 
which  we  proceeded,  with  great  delight,  and  sat  down,  side  by  side, 
and,  in  the  language  of  another,  '  swore  perpetual  amity.'  When  I 
first  perused  the  account  of  the  shallop,  moored  in  the  middle  of  the 
river  Audaye,  in  which  Francis  the  First,  after  his  long  imprison 
ment,  was  permitted,  for  a  moment  only,  to  see  his  children,  the 
Dauphin  and  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  recollection  of  our  rock  in  the 
little  rivulet  came  forcibly  before  me.  Napoleon  and  Alexander, 
when  they  met  upon  '  the  raft  of  Tilsit,'  in  the  middle  of  the 
Niemen,  embraced  not  with  a  thousandth  part  of  the  cordiality, 
which  characterized  our  first  interview  upon  the  rock.*  We  did 
not  proceed,  like  the  great  French  robber  and  the  greedy  autocrat 
of  all  the  Russias,  to  portion  out  the  fair  world  between  ourselves  ; 
but  we,  then  and  there,  established  our  future  relations,  upon  a  basis 
exceedingly  agreeable  to  the  high  contracting  parties.  It  was  agreed 
that  George  should,  at  all  times,  cross  over  and  help  himself  to  any 
flowers  in  my  garden,  and  that  I  should  have  an  uninterrupted  range 
along  the  entire  length  of  Thimbleberry  wall.  In  short,  we  formed 
an  alliance  offensive  and  defensive  forever.  You  will  forgive  me  for 
dwelling  thus  minutely  upon  such  comparatively  unimportant  inci 
dents  as  these.  There  are  few  occurrences,  wHch  memory  recalls 
more  easily  or  with  a  purer  delight,  than  these  recollections  of  our 
early  days. 

"  However  important  to  ourselves,  nothing,  surely,  would  be  more 
uninteresting  to  the  world  at  large,  than  the  detail  of  our  juvenile 
years.  Such  occupations,  such  cares,  such  pleasures  were  ours,  as 
ordinarily  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  children  of  upright  and  industrious 
husbandmen.  When  I  look  around  me,  and  institute  a  comparison, 
at  the  present  day,  I  am  rejoiced  to  believe,  that  our  worthy  parents 
have  been  as  constantly  and  powerfully  governed,  through  life,  by 
moral  and  religious  principle,  as  any  of  their  neighbors. 

"When  George  Morgan  had  attained  the  age  of  eighteen  years 

* "  Sic  parvis  componere  magna  solebam." 


272  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

his  constitution,  which  was  at  no  time,  within  my  recollecticn,  hale 
and  robust,  began  to  give  such  evidences  of  weakness,  as  made  it 
apparent,  that  the  labors  of  the  farm  were  more  than  he  could  per 
manently  endure.  "We  had  an  old  physician  in  our  village,  who 
emigrated  many  years  before  from  Scotland  —  Dr.  Sawney  M'Phail. 
My  recollections  of  the  old  gentleman  are  altogether  agreeable  He 
had  an  unusually  winning  way  with  him,  in  his  intercourse  with 
children.  Our  clergyman,  though  a  man  of  exemplary  piety,  was 
remarkable  for  an  austerity  of  manners,  bordering  even  upon  rough 
ness.  It  was  a  by- word  among  our  young  people,  that  we  had 
rather  take  jalap  from  Dr.  Sawney  than  gingerbread  from  Parson 
Scroggs.  The  doctor  gave  his  opinion,  that  it  was  absolutely  neces 
sary  for  George  Morgan  to  seek  some  other  occupation,  and  that 
his  physical  strength  was  altogether  unequal  to  the  labors  of  the 
field.  His  father,  who  had  the  most  implicit  confidence  in  the  doc 
tor's  judgment,  readily  acquiesced  in  the  decision. 

' '  Our  family  were  well  aware  that  George  Morgan  had  not  the 
most  vigorous  constitution,  and  hints  had  been  occasionally  dropped, 
that  he  might,  at  some  time,  not  far  distant  perhaps,  find  it  neces 
sary  to  relinquish  the  farmer's  life.  The  tidings,  when  they  came 
to  us  at  last,  were,  nevertheless,  entirely  unexpected,  and  filled  our 
little  household  with  surprise,  not  altogether  unmingled  with  pain. 
We  had  assembled  together,  one  summer  evening,  as  usual.  My 
father  and  myself  had  just  hung  our  scythes  upon  the  old  oak  before 
our  door,  and  were  entering  our  cottage ;  my  mother  was  prepar 
ing  the  tea-table,  and  my  sister  Margaret  was  at  the  ironing-board, 
when  Dr.  M'Phail  rode  up  on  his  old  gray  mare.  4  Come  in,  doc 
tor,'  cried  my  father  ;  '  we  're  better  pleased  to  see  ye,  than  if  we 
were  ailing ;  we  're  just  sitting  down  to  table,  and  wife,  I  see,  has 
got  some  fine  trout  in  the  spider.'  — '  Trout,  mon  !'  cried  the  doc 
tor; —  'hiud  your  gait,  ye  jade,'  addressing  his  old  mare,  'and 
I  '11  make  your  harden  a  wee  bit  lighter.  —  Aweel,  gude  wife,'  con 
tinued  he,  addressing  my  mother, '  I  '11  taste  your  bannocks.  Trout 
is  it,  ey?'  looking  over  my  mother's  shoulder  into  the  spider. — 
*  Yes,  doctor,'  said  my  mother,  '  and  you  're  always  welcome.'  — 
'I've  ken 'd  that  aboot  twanty  years,  luckie,'  replied  the  doctor; 
'  but  I  '11  jest  gi'  the  old  mare  a  bidding.'  —  'My  son  shall  take  hei 
home  for  you,  doctor,'  said  my  father.  — '  Na,  na,'  said  the  doctor, 
'  the  callan  's  waary  o'  his  day's  wark,  an'  auld  Dobbin  kens  the 
shart  way  weel  enough.'  So  saying,  he  threw  the  bridle  over  her 
neck,  and,  slapping  her  on  the  back, '  Gang  hame,  beastie,'  said  he  ; 
and  away  she  went,  like  a  well-trained  trooper's  horse  without  its 
rider.  '  She  's  cannie,  slid  the  doctox ;  '  she  '11  be  at  her  fother 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  273 

right  soon  ;  an'  she  '11  wait  for  'em  at  the  dooi  to  take  off  the  bags 
first.  If  she  should  rowl,  or  rampauge  it,  there  'd  be  meikle  bad 
wark  amang  the  potions  and  the  plasters,  to  be  sure.  —  Weel,' 
resumed  the  doctor,  as  he  took  his  seat  in  the  arm-chair,  which  I 
had  placed  for  him  near  the  window,  '  weel,  Georgy  Morgan  will 
be  ganging  fro'  ye  soon ;  he  's  to  larn  the  humanities  at  the  univar- 
sity.'  — '  How  you  talk  !'  said  my  mother,  suspending  her  opera 
tions.  My  sister  Margaret,  who  had  just  taken  a  hot  iron  from  the 
fire,  set  it  down,  almost  involuntarily,  upon  her  best  collar,  which 
she  was  preparing  to  iron,  and  stared  at  the  doctor  in  utter  astonish 
ment.  'Hout,  Margery,'  cried  Dr.  M'Phail,  '  where 's  the  bogle 
that  frights  ye,  hiney  1  I  'm  only  telling  yo,  that  Georgy  Moigan  's 
to  gang  away  to  larn  the  humanities,  and  ye  're  as  clane  bewildered 
as  though  I  toult  ye  that  he  was  a  ghaist.  JLook  there  now,  your 
hot  iron  has  barnt  clane  through  your  napery.'  — '  Doetor,'  said  I, 
while  Margaret  was  recovering  from  her  confusion, '  is  George  really 
going  to  college 7'  — '  It 's  a1  settled,'  said  the  doctor,  '  an'  ye  may 
live  to  see  him  git  a  thump,  afoor  he  dies,  at  the  pvipit  o'  Parson 
Scroggs,  if  ony  o'  it  is  left,  whin  the  auld  minister  comes  to  rist  fro' 
his  labors.' 

"  The  intelligence,  communicated  by  Dr.  M'Phail,  certainly 
produced  a  solemnizing,  perhaps  a  depressing  effect  upon  our 
little  circle ;  though  it  might  have  been  somewhat  perplexing  for 
some  of  us  to  analyze  those  feelings,  which  that  intelligence  pro 
duced.  I  felt  that  we  were  already  separated  —  that  I  had  already 
lost  the  companion  of  my  childhood,  the  friend  of  my  youth.  It 
appeared  to  me,  that,  while  my  own  humble  lot  was  fixed  forever, 
his  was  a  career,  whose  limit  must  depend  upon  his  talent  and  appli 
cation  ;  and  that  he  was  to  enter  upon  a  path,  whither  it  was  impos 
sible  for  me  to  follow.  —  'Well,'  said  my  mother,  'George  Mor 
gan  will  be  a  great  man,  one  of  these  days,  I  suppose,  and  hold  his 
head  above  us  all,  and  forget  his  old  friends,  as  like  as  not.'  — '  He 
is  a  worthy  young  man,1  said  my  father.  —  '  A  bonny  chiel,'  said 
the  doctor,  'an'  he  '11  na  forget  ane  that  it 's  warth  his  while 
to  remember.  Georgy  Morgan  's  not  the  callan  to  gi'  never  a 
thought  to  auld  lang  syne ;  is  he  sic  a  loon  as  that,  Margery  Eger- 
ton?'  — This  direct  and  energetic  appeal  from  the  good  old  doctor 
was  too  much  for  poor  Margaret ;  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  rushed  out  of  the  apartment.  '  Weel,  weel,'  said  the  doctor, 
after  she  had  gone,  '  if  Georgy  Morgan  were  to  see  the  puir  thing 
rin  away  at  the  very  sound  o'  his  name,  I  faar  't  would  be  like  to 
take  away  his  relish  for  the  humanities;  but  come,  gude  wife,  let 
us  taste  i '  the  trout  and  the  bannocks ;  are  they  meikle  plenty  in 


274  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

the  burnie,  Wil  ie  Egerton?'  turning  to  me.  1  replied  in  th« 
affirmative,  and  told  him  that  I  had  left  a  dozen  of  the  host  at  his 
lodging-house.  '  Ah,  Willie,'  said  he,  *  ye  was  a  honny  chiel 
yoursel,  though  Georgy  was  ever  the  mair  patient  listener  o'  the 
twa.  Don't  ye  remember,  whin  I  was  repeating  poor  Bobby 
Burns's  Twa  Dogs  t'  ye  baith,  how,  in  the  most  interesting  part  o' 
it,  ye  ran  off  like  mad  after  a  moudiwort  that  crapt  out  o'  the  wa', 
ey,  Willie?  Weel,  it's  hard  to  part  ye  twa  lads.  Frind  Eger- 
ton,'  continued  the  doctor,  addressing  my  father,  '  Willie  's  na  the 
stoutest,  naather;  why  na  lit  'em  gang  thegither,  ey,  mon?' —  '  O 
doctor,'  said  my  father,  *  my  neighbor,  Mr.  Morgan,  is  a  great  deal 
better  off  than  I  am,  and  George  is  an  only  child.'  —  'The  charge 
will  na  be  sa  meikle  more,'  said  the  doctor.  — '!  have  not  the 
wherewithal,'  replied  my  father,  '  to  send  my  SOP  to  college,  Dr. 
M'Phail  ;  it 's  entirely  out  of  the  question.  I  ha^  t  other  chi'.lren 

to  support,  and '  'Weel,  weel,'  cried  the  -factor,  'we  say 

in  the  auld  country,  it  matters  na  whether  a  thin&  *ost  a  pund  star 
ling  or  a  bawbee,  if  a  mon  has  nagot  the  bawbee  Willie,'  contin 
ued  the  doctor,  '  would  ye  like  to  gang,  ey,  chiel  '  —  I  replied  'hat 
I  did  not  like  to  burden  my  father,  and  that  I  was  -«are  my  ser»  *ces 
were  necessary  upon  the  farm.  —  '  I  am  afraid  ite  trout  are  not 
cooked  to  your  liking,  doctor,'  said  my  mother.  —  *  Troth,  an'  *hey 
are,  goody  Egerton,'  replied  the  doctor,  who,  *«?»  a  brief  s^ace, 
seemed  to  be  playing  idly  with  his  knife  and  fork  •  '  but  I  was,  just 
then,  sitting  under  the  roof  o'  my  ain  bien  ho,  *«»  upon  Tu^ed's 
side.  I  'm  there  in  a  twinkling.  But  all  that  I  ,t*ved  are  under  the 
sod  ;  there  's  na  kith  nor  kin  o'  mine  in  all  Scot**«xl  now.  And  so 
ye  '11  na  send  Willie  to  larn  the  humanities,  ey,  .w^hbor  Egerton?' 
— '  If  I  could  see  my  way  clear  in  the  matter,  replied  my  father, 
'I  should  have  no  objection  ;  but  as  it  is,  it  se?<ns  entirely  out  of 
the  question.'  — '  Weel,  now,'  said  the  doctor,  *  i»  sic  a  matter  can 
ye  na  club  the  siller  amang  yourselves  ?  It  '11  be  na  sma'  thing  for 
Willie,  ye  ken,  and  he  's  your  only  son,  neighbor  Egerton.'  —  '  If 
George  Morgan  is  to  go,'  said  my  mother,  '  I  se*  not  why  our  Wil 
liam  might  not  make  as  good  a  figure  as  he  or  ai«v  other  lad,  I  don' 
care  who  he  is.  Sukey  Morgan  will  hold  her  nead  high  enough 
I  guess,  if  a  son  of  hers  ever  gets  to  college/  —  'The  question 
wife,'  said  my  father,  '  is  not  what  sort  of  a  figure  William  woul* 
make,  nor  how  high  Sukey  Morgan  will  hold  tier  head  if  Georgt 
should  go  to  c'  liege,  but  how  we  can  find  the  means  of  supporting 
William  at  the  university.  I  owe  almost  nothing  beeide  the  olo 
mortgage,  and  that  is  well  nigh  paid  off.  It  has  been  iuy  hope,  and 
the  end  of  all  my  labor  and  saving,  for  many  yeara  ,o  clear  the 


MABGARET'S  BRIDAL.  275 

jstate,  and  leave  it  ui. encumbered  to  my  wife  and  children  when  \ 

die.     The  thought  of  increasing  my  debt  is '  — '  O,  lather,' 

said  I,  '  don't  think  of  it ;  I  don't  care  a  fig  about  going  to  college." 
— '  Don't  tell  a  lee,  Willie,'  said  the  old  doctor,  with  a  knowing 
look  ;  '  are  ye  na  the  very  chiel  yoursel  that  tould  auk  Master 
Moody  ye  'd  be  mair  than  willing  to  gie  ane  o'  your  twa  een  an'  ye 
could  be  permitted  to  study  with  the  tither,  foor  years  in  the  univar- 
sity  r  — '  Dr.  M'Phail,'  said  my  sister  Margaret,  who  had  returned 
to  the  apartment,  and  taken  her  seat  quietly  at  the  tea-table,  '  how 
much  would  it  cost?  Would  it  cost  more  than  a  hundred  dollars V 
— '  A  hunder  dollars  ! '  cried  the  doctor,  lifting  up  his  hands ;  *  hout, 
lassie,  to  be  sure,  and  an  unco  parcel  o'  the  siller  beside.  But  I 
ken  what  ye  maan  weel  enough.  It 's  the  hunder  dollars  ye  're 
thinking  o'  that  were  lift  to  ye,  by  the  will  of  your  auld  aunt  Hepsy 
Harraden,  and  it  saams  ye  're  willing  to  gie  the  whole  hunder  away 
for  Willie  to  be  educated  at  the  univarsity.'  — '  I  am,  indeed,  doc 
tor,'  said  Margaret,  while  the  tear  glistened  in  her  eye. — *  Hout, 
tout,  bonnie  lassie,'  cried  the  doctor,  '  na  a  dollar  o'  it  shall  iver 
gang  that  gait,  whiles  Sawney  M'Phail 's  the  executor  o'  auld  Hepsy 
Harraden 's  last  will  and  testament.  But  supposing  I  choose  to 
take  the  cost  and  charge  o'  Willie's  laming  upon  my  ain  self,  who 
has  a  better  right?  I  halp'd  him,  the  wee  bairn  that  he  was,  into 
this  warld  o'  care,  and  he  's  iver  been  a  guid  chiel,  bating  a  leetle 
inattention,  whin  I  'm  repeating  a  Scotch  ballad  or  sic  like.  Now 
ye  ken,  as  I  toult  ye,  that  I  've  naather  kith  nor  kin  ;  and  so,  neigh 
bor  Egerton,  if  ye  '11  na  stand  i'  the  way,  I  '11  pay  the  scot,  and  ilka 
bawbee  for  Willie's  laming  the  humanities  shall  come  out  my  ain 
pocket,  mon  ;  so  make  yourself  aisy.'  —  'God  reward  you,  doctor,' 
said  my  father,  with  a  faltering  voice  ;  '  I  fear  I  never  shall  be  able 
to  do  so,  myself.' — 'Dear  doctor,'  cried  my  mother,  as  her  eyes 
were  filling  with  grateful  tears, '  you  have  eaten  nothing  ;  do  let  me 
put  a  hot  trout  upon  your  plate ;'  at  the  same  moment,  in  her  con 
fusion,  transferring  one  from  the  spider  to  her  own  instead  of  the 
doctor's.  Poor  Margaret  was  thoroughly  intoxicated  with  delight. 
—  'Dr.  M'Phail!'  she  cried,  as  she  sprang  from  her  chair,  and, 
throwing  her  arms  around  the  old  man's  neck,  almost  smothered 
him  with  kisses  and  tears.  The  kind-hearted  old  gentleman  waa 
himself  overcome  by  these  simple  testimo  lies  of  grateful  respect.  — 
'  T  maun  be  ganging,'  said  he,  as  he  wiped  the  tear  from  his  eye  ; 
*  I  maun  be  ganging.  I  did  na  ken  I  was  sic  an  auld  fool  as  I  am.' 
He  disengaged  himself  from  Margaret's  affectionate  embrace,  and, 
giving  my  parents  a  hearty  shake  by  the  hand,  he  took  his  leave. 
The  tumult  of  happiness  in  my  own  bosom  I  can  no  more  now 


276  MARGARET'S   BRIDAL. 

describe,  than  I  could  then  control  it.  The  highest  object  of  my 
ambition  appeared  to  be  already  within  my  grasp.  I  had  carefully 
forborne  to  give  my  father  pain,  by  expressing  a  wish,  which  I  knew 
he  had  i  jt  the  power  to  gratify  ;  yet  among  the  most  attractive 
of  all  tluse  gay  imaginings,  those  castles,  which  I  certainly  sup 
posed  were  castles  in  the  air,  was  the  vision  of  a  collegiate  educa 
tion.  I  was  utterly  unable  to  make  the  good  doctor  the  slightest 
acknowledgment.  I  slunk  out  of  the  room,  and,  after  his  depart 
ure,  ran  across  a  wood-lot  to  intercept  him,  in  a  solitary  part  of  the 
road,  which  I  knew  he  would  take  on  his  way  homeward.  I  over 
took  him  precisely  as  I  had  expected  ;  but,  when  I  had  leapt  over 
the  wall,  and  seized  him  by  the  hand,  I  could  not  utter  an  intelligi 
ble  sentence.  '  Doctor,'  said  I,  — '  Dr.  M'Phail,  you  don't  know 
'  — 'Yes,  I  do,  Willie,'  said  he,  comprehending  my  embar 
rassment,  '  I  ken  it  a'.  Gang  hame,  chiel,  gang  hame,  and  tell 
your  father,  that  the  sooner  ye  're  with  Master  Moody,  the  sooner 
ye  '11  be  ganging  to  the  univarsity.' 

"  The  detail  of  our  preparatory  course  is  of  little  importance. 
Dr.  M'Phail  made  the  necessary  arrangements ;  my  father  soon 
employed  a  hired  man  to  supply  my  place  upon  the  farm  ;  and 
George  Morgan  and  myself  exchanged  our  rustic  occupation  for  the 
pursuits  of  literature,  under  the  direction  of  Master  Moody ;  and,  in 
the  ordinary  course  of  time,  were  prepared  for  the  university. 

"  Chemical  results  from  certain  combinations  are  not  more  surely 
anticipated,  than  the  advantages  of  a  liberal,  as  we  commonly 
express  it,  meaning  a  collegiate,  education.  To  say  nothing  of  that 
difference  in  the  result,  which  must  necessarily  depend  upon  differ 
ence  of  intellectual  vigor  and  application,  there  is  manifestly  a 
superior  ability  in  some  to  pass  on  securely,  amidst  those  numerous 
temptations,  which  are  spread  abroad  in  the  purlieus  of  every 
university.  When  we  contemplate  the  striking  deficiency  of  moral 
training  in  some,  whose  good  moral  character  is  duly  certified  at  the 
time  of  their  admission,  and  the  extreme,  constitutional  volatility  of 
others,  there  is  nothing  unreasonable  in  the  supposition,  that  there 
are,  in  certain  individuals,  peculiar  aptitudes  for  destruction.  It 
may  follow  from  these  considerations,  that  there  are  some,  whose 
temperament  is  so  poorly  calculated  for  all  the  chances  and  changes 
of  a  college  life,  that  the  difficulties,  attendant  upon  some  other 
system  of  education,  whatever  they  may  be,  are  outweighed,  by  the 
manifest  perils  of  an  experiment  at  the  university. 

"George  Morgan  had  been  reared  by  his  parents,  with  a  strict 
regard  for  moral  and  religious  principle.  He  had  always  been 
remarkable  for  the  vivacity  of  his  disposition  ;  his  habits,  previously 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  277 

to  his  admission  to  the  university,  had  been  correct  and  even  exem 
plary.  But  the  excitement,  the  novelty,  the  temptations  of  a  college 
life  were  too  much  for  him.  It  would  be  unnecessary  —  to  me  it 
would  be  a  most  painful  task  —  to  give  you  a  minute  history  of  the 
decline  and  fall  of  my  ui  happy  friend.  He  commenced  his  unfor 
tunate  career  in  social  drinking,  and  in  those  college  clubs,  which 
have  proved  the  primary  schools,  where  many  have  acquired  their 
first  lessons  of  intemperance.  At  the  close  of  his  junior  year,  he 
was  withdrawn  from  the  university  by  his  unhappy  parents,  on 
account  of  his  notoriously  intemperate  habits.  My  own  unwearied 
solicitation,  the  constant  appeals  of  his  parents,  and  of  good  old 
Dr.  M'Phail,  the  admonitions  of  those  among  the  college  govern 
ment,  who  took  a  special  interest  in  his  welfare,  were  unavailing. 
His  separation  from  the  university  appeared  not  to  be  attended  with 
those  beneficial  effects,  which  had  been  anticipated  by  his  parents 
and  friends.  The  virus,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  seemed 
to  have  mingled  with  his  blood.  The  fact  could  no  longer  be  con 
cealed.  College  wine,  which  had  unquestionably  been  the  great 
fir*t  cause  of  his  ruin,  speedily  gave  place  to  village  rum  —  George 
Morgan  was  a  drunkard !  His  father  bore  up  under  this  terrible 
affliction,  with  a  measure  of  fortitude,  entirely  unexpected  by  his 
friends  ;  but  his  poor  mother  was  completely  overthrown.  When 
ever  my  parents  attempted  to  offer  her  any  species  of  consolation, 
'Ah,  neighbor  Egerton,'  she  would  say,  'if  it  had  been  your 
William,  you  could  have  borne  it  better,  for  you  would  not  have 
been  entirely  bereaved ;  you  could  have  turned  for  comfort  and 
support  to  your  other  children  ;  but  it  is  a  grievous  thing,'  she  would 
say,  while  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks,  '  it  is  a  grievous  thing  to 
be  the  thankless  mother  of  an  only  child ! ' 

"  There  was  one,  upon  whose  gentle  spirit  this  misery  fell  like 
the  blasting  mildew  upon  the  tender  leaf.  The  attachment,  between 
George  Morgan  and  my  sister  Margaret,  was  a  matter  of  general 
notoriety  over  the  village.  It  had  grown  with  their  growth  and 
etrengthened  with  their  strength;  yet  there  had  never  been  any 
formal  understanding  upon  this  subject,  between  our  respective 
parents.  I  once  heard  Mr.  Morgan  say  to  my  father,  as  we  were 
returning  from  meeting,  one  Sabbath  afternoon,  pointing  at  the  same 
time  over  his  shoulder  towards  George  and  Margaret,  who  had 
separated  themselves  from  our  little  group,  as  usual,  and  were 
lingering  far  behind  —  'If  my  boy  and  your  girl,'  said  he,  'keep 
on  as  they  have  done,  a  few  years  longer,  I  should  n't  be  surprised 
if  they  finally  tied  themselves  and  our  two  estates  together.'  —  '  I  '11 
put  my  girl,'  said  my  father,  '  against  your  boy,  but  her  part  of  my 

vot    n.  24 


278  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

little  homestead  against  all  yours,  neighbor  Morgan,  would  scarcely 
be  fair.'  — '  A  good  wife  never  made  a  poor  man  poorer,'  said  the 
other,  'and  broad  acres  never  helped  any  man  to  bear  a  vixen's 
tongue  the  better.  It  '3  a  fair  trade,  friend  Egerton  ;  Margaret 's  a 
good  girl ;  let  'em  settle  it  their  own  way.'  —  'I  'm  content.,'  replied 
my  father ;  '  and  if  she  proves  as  good  a  wife  to  George,  as  she  has 
been  a  daughter  to  me,  the  bargain  may  be  a  fair  one  after  all.' 

"  The  subject  of  George  Morgan's  intemperance  was  so  exceed 
ingly  painful  to  my  sister,  that  we  seldom  alluded  to  it,  unless  when 
introduced  by  herself.  If  his  reformation  could  have  been  achieved, 
by  the  tears  and  entreaties  of  this  poor  girl,  it  would  surely  have 
been  accomplished.  Her  extreme  solicitude  preyed  upon  her  spirits, 
and  her  health  began  visibly  to  decline.  George  still  occasionally 
visited  at  our  house,  and,  upon  these  occasions,  his  behavior  was 
such  as  to  encourage  our  hopes,  which  were  invariably  extinguished 
in  the  course  of  two  or  three  days,  by  the  tidings  of  some  new 
indiscretion.  Dr.  M'Phail  earnestly  advised,  that  Margaret  should 
refuse  to  see  him,  except  in  the  presence  of  her  parents,  unless  he 
thoroughly  reformed ;  that  she  should  dismiss  him  formally  as  hei 
suitor,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  from  her  thoughts.  George  Morgan's 
mother  protested  with  great  earnestness  against  this  advice.  '  You 
will  drive  my  poor  child,'  said  she,  '  to  absolute  despair.  Ho 
believes  that  he  has  but  one  friend  upon  earth ;  and  if  he  is  to  ho 
told  that  he  has  not  anything  to  hope  from  her  affection,  there  will 
remain  nothing  between  him  and  utter  destruction.  Save  my  poor 
boy,  Margaret ;  it  is  yourself  alone  that  can  do  this.  No  one  has 
such  an  influence  over  him.  He  loves  you  better  than  anything  in 
this  world.'  —  *  Na,  na,  goody  Morgan,'  said  the  doctor;  '  he  has 
unco  mair  luve  for  his  cursed  buttle.'  — '  O,  Dr.  M'Phail,'  cried 
Mrs/Morgan,  '  how  can  you  be  so  cruel  as  to  destroy  the  only  hope 
we  have  of  George's  reformation ;  it  is  the  only  life-boat  that  can 
save  my  unhappy  son.'  —  '  It 's  na  in  my  nature,  goody  Morgan,  to 
be  cruel,'  replied  the  doctor,  as  he  brushed  away  the  tear  which  this 
exhibition  of  maternal  anguish  had  brought  into  his  eye ;  '  and  as 
for  the  life-boat,  that 's  to  save  your  chiel,  goody  Morgan,  it 's  mair 
o'  a  puir  frail  thing  than  ye  ken  for,  and  mair  likely  to  gang  down 
amang  the  troubled  waters,  than  to  gie  halp  to  anither.' 

"  My  parents  were  sufficiently  impressed  with  Dr.  M'Phail's 
opinion,  and  urged  every  argument  in  its  favor.  For  several  days 
after  this  conversation,  my  sister  observed  an  unusual  silence,  and 
confined  herself  as  much  as  possible  to  her  private  apartment.  We 
had  become  extremely  anxious  for  the  result.  One  Sabbath  morn- 
i?s£,  when  we  had  prepared  to  go  to  meeting,  and  were  sitting  it 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  279 

silence,  awaiting  the  sound  of  the  village  bell  my  sister  came  down 
with  a  smile  upon  her  pale  features,  so  perfectly  seiene,  that  my 
mother  expressed  her  satisfaction,  at  the  improvement  in  her  appear 
ance.  '  My  dear  father  and  mother,'  said  Margaret,  after  a  short 
pause,  '  how  truly  I  love  you  both  !  — how  I  shall  ever  bless  you 
for  bringing  me  up  in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord !  — 
for  teaching  me  to  love  his  tabernacles !  —  for  clasping  my  infant 
hands  in  prayer !  It  is  thus  I  have  gathered  strength  upon  the 
present  occasion.  My  mind  is  now  at  ease.  The  services  of  the 
sanctuary  will  afford  me  additional  support  —  this  day,  George  will 
surely  abstain  from  his  habit  sufficiently  to  enable  me  to  bid  him 
farewell.  — I  dare  not  tempt  the  vengeance  of  Heaven,  by  wedding 
a  drunkard."  She  then  requested  me  to  ask  George  to  meet  her 
for  a  few  moments,  that  evening,  at  the  willows.  These  willows 
skirted  the  river  road,  as  it  was  called,  for  the  length  of  half  a  mile, 
and  formed  one  of  the  boundaries  of  the  Morgan  farm.  The  inter 
view  was  brief,  but  undoubtedly  attended  with  great  suffering  to 
both  parties.  Apprehensive  that  she  might  not  be  able  to  sustain 
herself,  I  had  secretly  followed  her  steps,  and  stationed  myself  at  a 
convenient  distance.  George  was  first  at  this  well-known,  and  oft- 
frequented  place  of  meeting.  His  appearance  was  more  respectable 
than  usual.  He  had  evidently  paid  more  than  ordinary  attention  to 
his  attire,  and  was  not,  apparently,  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 
When  Margaret  approached,  he  turned  hastily  to  meet  her,  with  an 
expression  of  great  satisfaction  upon  his  countenance;  for  it  was  a 
long  time  since  she  had  consented  to  meet  him  at  the  willows,  and 
her  manners  towards  him,  for  many  months,  had  been  marked  with 
that  air  of  painful  solemnity,  which  his  conduct  would  be  so  likely 
to  produce.  '  I  am  rejoiced  to  meet  you  here  once  more,  dear  Mar 
garet,'  said  he,  extending  his  hand.  She  stood  before  him  like  a 
statue,  but  so  greatly  agitated,  that  I  could  plainly  perceive  the 
tremulation  of  her  whole  figure.  The  smile  of  satisfaction,  which 
lighted  up  his  features,  when  they  first  met,  had  speedily  vanished, 
and  given  place  to  an  expression  of  astonishment,  mingled  with 
dread  ;  for  I  have  no  doubt,  that,  with  a  recollection  of  her  previous 
intimations,  he  already  began  to  anticipate  the  object  of  her  sum 
mons.  '  Will  you  not  give  me  your  hand,  Margaret?'  said  he,  once 
more  extending  his  own,  and  gazing  intently  upon  her  pair*  and 
agitated  features. — -'George,'  she  replied,'!  have  given  you  my 
whole  heart.  I  fondly  expected  to  have  given  you  my  hand,  at  the 
altar,  before  God  and  man,  and  to  have  walked  through  this  fair 
world  with  you,  for  my  best  earthly  friend.  I  would  have  givec 
you,  George  Morgan,  all  that  a  poor  girl  has  to  give,  but  her  hopes 


280  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

of  happiness,  in  a  better  world.  But  the  vision  is  past  —  I  have 
come  to  bid  you  tarewell.' —  *  Margaret,'  he  replied,  'you  have 
often  said,  that  you  would  never  break  your  word.  You  have 
promised  to  be  mine.'  —  'I  promised  to  be  the  wife  of  George 
Morgan,  whose  dear,  bright  eye  and  ruddy  cheek  I  well  remember : 
when  I  made  that  promise,  could  he  suppose  I  would  ever  listen  to 
a  drunkard,  who  came,  in  his  name  and  stead,  to  claim  the  privileges 
of  a  lover !  This  may  sound  harshly,  but  I  have  sought  the  path  of 
duly,  with  many  tears  and  many  prayers,  and  therein  will  I  walk.' 
I  had  not  given  my  poor  sister  credit  for  half  the  firmness  and 
energy,  which  she  exhibited  upon  the  present  occasion.  '  Marga 
ret,'  said  he,  after  a  short  pause,  '  I  think  I  comprehend  all  this :  a 
woman's  fancy  is  liable  to  change;  and  I  have  lately  heard  of  a 
visitor  at  your  father's  house.'  —  *  George  —  George,'  said  she,  with 
a  trembling  voice,  '  God  grant  you  may  reform  and  be  happy. 
This  is  a  cruel  speech,  George  Morgan  :  should  you  live  to  shed  a 
iear  upon  my  grave,  it  will  be  upon  the  grave  of  Margaret  Egerton. 
Farewell ;  my  peace  requires,  that  henceforth  I  should  study  to 
forget  you.  I  have  no  need  of  these  memorials  any  more.'  As  she 
uttered  these  words,  she  tendered  him  a  small  parcel,  which  he 
seemed  almost  involuntarily  to  receive  into  his  hand,  continuing 
silently  to  gaze  upon  her  retiring  steps,  with  an  expression  of  amaze 
ment.  When  she  had  passed  entirely  from  his  view,  he  sat  down 
upon  a  broad  stone,  by  the  road-side,  still  holding  the  package  in 
his  hand.  His  countenance  was  full  of  sadness.  Wounded  pride 
had  prompted  his  suggestion,  respecting  the  visitor  at  our  house. 
He  knew  Margaret  had  loved  him  with  a  perfectly  single-hearted 
devotion.  In  a  little  time,  he  began  to  open  the  package,  and  as 
he  drew  forth  a  volume  —  a  ring  —  his  letters  from  the  university 
—  and  other  tokens  of  his  affection  in  happier  days,  —  the  energies 
of  his  heart  —  and  a  warmer  beat  not  in  any  bosom  —  broke  forth  in 
a  perfect  tumult  of  anguish.  '  Merciful  God  I1  he  exclaimed,  *  has 
it  come  to  this!'  The  tears  poured  down  his  cheeks  in, a  torrent, 
and  he  sobbed  aloud.  I  know  not  that  I  ever  felt  deeper  pity  foi 
any  human  being.  After  he  had  continued  thus,  for  a  considerable 
space  of  time,  I  drew  nearer,  though  still  concealed  from  his  obser 
vation.  He  began  to  gather  up  and  replace  the  several  articles, 
which  Margaret  had  returned  to  him.  '  A  drunkard  ! '  he  exclaimed  ; 
'  even  she  calls  me  a  drunkard !  Men  may  call  me  so ;  but  to  be 
proclaimed  a  drunkard  by  an  angel's  voice!  I  am  then  entirely 
forsaken.  Margaret  h;is  bid  me  farewell !  Merciful  God,  have 
mercy  upon  me,  and  sive  me  from  myself !'  —  As  I  looked  upon 
the  clasped  hands  and  uplifted  eyes  of  this  wretched  young  man. 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  281 

streaming  with  tears,  I  could  no  longer  restrain  the  impulse  of  my 
soul,  and  cried  aloud,  *  Amen  and  amen  !' 

"  He  started  from  his  seat,  half  offended  by  this  sudden  interrup 
tion.  He  dashed  the  tears  from  his  eyes  ;  pride,  mortification, 
resentment,  were  already  at  work  within,  and  had  begun  to  mani 
fest  their  influence  upon  the  features  of  my  unhappy  friend.  — '  Mr. 
Egerton,'  said  he,  '  you  have  surprised  me  at  a  moment  of  unusual 
weakness.'  — '  Mr.  Egerton!'  I  replied,  seizing  him  by  the  hand  — 
'George  —  George  Morgan,  my  friend  and  companion  from  the 
cradle,  let  there  be  no  formality  between  us,  I  beseech  you :  do  not 
call  that  a  moment  of  weakness,  in  which  you  have  been  able  to 
seek  for  comfort  and  support  where  alone  they  can  be  found.  O, 
George,  my  friend,  renew  those  supplications  at  the  throne  of  grace. 
Repeat  them  from  day  to  day  —  from  hour  to  hour.  At  first,  they 
may  be  little  more  than  brief  ejaculations,  like  that,  which  I  just 
now  heard  you  utter.  Brief  as  they  are,  yet,  if  sincere,  God  will 
listen.  Ere  long  they  will  become  continued,  fervent,  habitual 
prayer,  which  a  merciful  God  will  surely  answer.  Dear  friend  ot 
my  youth,  shake  off  this  accursed  habit,  for  the  sake  of  your  friends.' 

—  'They  already  despise  me,'  he  replied.     '  Reform  then,'  said  I, 
'  for  your  own  sake.'  — '  I  care  not  what  becomes  of  me,'  said  he. 

—  *  Will  you  not  make  the  effort  for  the  sake  of  your  aid  father1?' 
— '  He  has  cast  me  from  him,  and  treats  me  harshly,'  he  replied.  — 
'  There  is  another,'  I  rejoined :  '  will  you  not  renounce  this  sin, 
which  so  easily  besets  you,  for  the  sake  of  my  unhappy  sister1?'  — 
'  She  despises  me,'  he  replied  ;  *  she  has  just  now  bid  me  farewell. 
It  is  not  worth  your  while  to  cast  your  thought  upon  me.     There  is 
not  a  person  upon  earth,  who  does  not  view  me  with  contempt.'  — 
'  Dear  George,'  said  I,  '  it  is  not  so.     Can  you  not  summon  to  your 
aid  the  best  faculties  of  your  nature  ?    Can  you  not  solemnly  resolve, 
by  God's  help,  to  relinquish  this  unnatural  gratification,  for  the  sake 
of  your  poor  mother?     Would  you  not  do  more  even  than  I  ask  to 
cast  that  sun-light  of  joy,  which  your  reformation  would  produce, 
upon  her  declining  years'?'  —  'My  poor  mother!'  he  exclaimed, 
after  a  moment's  pause.     *  O,  William,  I  was  wrong  ;  there  is  one 
who  does  not  despise  me.     She  has  ever  loved  me  ;  and  when  my 
father  has  censured  her,  for  not  adopjting  towards  me  a  course,  as 
harsh  as  his  own,  her  constant  reply  has  been,  •'  He  is  my  child ; 
he  is  my  only  child."  —  O,  my  poor  mother  !'  he  again  exclaimed, 
'  how  much  anguish  I  have  caused  her !'  — '  How  much  happiness 
it  is  in  your  power  to  bestow  !'  I  rejoined,  grasping  his  hand.     We 
sat  for  a  few  moments  in  silence  ;  and  while  I  uttered  a  silent  and 
earnest  prayer  to  God  on  his  behalf,  he  bowed  down  his  head  like  a 

VOL.  ii.  24* 


282  MARGARET'S  BRIDAL. 

bulrush,  and  the  tears  begai  to  flow.  I  improved  the  occasion  to 
the  very  best  of  my  ability.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  God  crowned  my 
labors  with  the  most  perfect  success.  That  Salibath  evening,  a 
temperance  lecture  was  delivered  in  our  village,  and  among  those, 
whose  names  were  enrolled  with  the  members  of  the  society,  was 
George  Morgan. 

"  No  tongue  can  faithfully  describe  the  happiness,  which  these 
tidings  diffused  in  our  two  cottages.  I  must  leave  this  matter  to 
the  hearer's  imagination,  which  I  may  do  the  more  confidently,  if 
he  happen  to  have  been,  at  some  period  of  his  existence,  an  intem 
perate  man,  and,  by  his  reformation,  to  have  wiped  the  tears  from 
the  eyes  of  a  broken-hearted  mother. 

"  The  Temperance  Society  in  our  village  was,  like  all  others  in 
existence  at  that  time,  based  upon  the  principle  of  abstinence  from 
ardent  spirit.  The  philosophy  of  temperance  was,  at  that  time, 
imperfectly  understood,  by  the  great  mass  of  mankind.  However 
obvious  the  fact,  that  the  same  means,  which  so  notoriously  pro 
duced  personal,  domestic,  and  national  drunkenness  of  old,  will' 
produce  the  same  effect,  at  the  present  day,  this  consideration 
seemed,  until  of  late,  to  be  entirely  overlooked. 

"  Eighteen  months  had  passed  away,  since  George  Morgan  be 
came  a  member  of  the  society  ;  and,  during  this  period,  his  deport 
ment  had  given  entire  satisfaction  to  his  friends.  He  had  resumed 
the  lighter  labors  of  the  farm,  and  entirely  gathered  up  his  fallen 
respectability.  He  had  long  renewed  his  visits  at  our  house.  My 
sister  Margaret  had  received  him  into  favor,  and  it  was  finally  settled 
that  they  were  to  be  married. 

"  Their  wedding-day  came  at  last.  The  friends  and  connections 
of  our  families  were  invited  of  course.  Old  Dr.  M'Phail  was  as 
merry  as  a  grig,  saving  that,  now  and  then,  something  would  be 
sure  to  remind  him  of  the  *  banks  and  braes,'  and  almost  force  the 
tear  into  his  eye.  Parson  Scroggs  performed  the  marriage  servic''. 
Afto-  the  ceremony  was  over,  wine  was  handed  to  the  company. 
When  it  was  offered  to  George  Morgan,  he  refused  it.  *  Why, 
Georgy,  mon,  na  take  a  glass  at  your  ain  wedding?'  said  the  doc 
tor.  —  *  I  've  drank  nothing  stronger  than  water,  doctor,  for  nearly 
two  years,'  he  replied,  4  and  I  guess  I  better  not.'  — '  Weel,  weel,' 
said  the  doctor,  '  may  be  the  chiel  's  unco  right,  though  a  glass  at 
his  ain  wedding  would  na  be  sic  a  bad  thing,  to  be  sure.'  —  'Why, 
George,'  cried  my  sister,  who  was  in  remarkably  fine  spirits,  *  not 
take  a  glass  of  wine  with  your  bride  !'  —  'There  's  high  authority 
for  wine  at  a  wedding,'  said  Parson  Scroggs,  as  he  drank  off  his 
glass.  — '  Come,  fie,  George,'  said  my  sister,  *  take  a  glass  of  wine 


MARGARET'S  BRIDAL.  283 

on  your  wedding-day,  or  the  folks  will  think  strange  of  it.' — *  Well, 
Margaret,'  said  he,  '  if  you  will  have  it  so.'  Accordingly  he  took 
his  glass.  It  may  seem  unaccountable  to  some  of  you,  but  his  fate 
was  sealed.  From  that  moment  he  became  a  drunkard.  That  fatal 
glass  reproduced  his  relish  for  strong  drink,  and  plunged  my  poor 
sister  into  unutterable  misery ;  for  she  cannot  to  this  hour  be  per 
suaded  that  she  was  not  the  positive  cause  of  his  second  fall. 

"  After  the  first  glass,  he  took  another  and  another,  insisting,  at 
last,  upon  drinking  with  every  member  of  the  company.  He  became 
thoroughly  intoxicated.  When  reproved  by  Parson  Scroggs  for  his 
intemperance,  '  Bless  your  soul,  parson,'  said  he,  '  there  's  high 
authority  for  wine  at  a  wedding!'  From  this  moment  his  habits 
became  worse  than  ever.  When  rebuked,  he  would  often  say, 
'  You  should  not  have  given  a  wild  beast,  whom  you  had  tamed,  a 
fresh  taste  of  blood.' 

"  Poor  George  Morgan  is  no  more.  He  has  been  dead  now  more 
than  two  years.  My  sister's  health  is  shattered,  and  her  mind  is 
affected,  by  this  domestic  calamity.  So  much  for  wine  at  a  wed 
ding.  Whenever  I  see  it  introduced,  or  hear  it  proposed,  upon  such 
occasions,  I  very  naturally  think  of  my  sister  Margaret's  bridal." 

Mr.  Egerton  concluded  his  narrative.  We  were  all  solemnized 
by  the  simple  recital.  I  looked  to  see  what  effect  it  had  produced 
upon  the  Rev.  Mr.  M'Ninny :  his  head  was  resting  on  his  arm, 
which  was  upon  the  tafferel  of  the  steamboat  —  he  was  fast  asleep. 

As  we  separated,  the  Kentuckian  was  earnestly  employed  in 
persuading  Mr.  Egerton  to  go  to  Boon's  Lick  and  relate  the  stcrv 
of  Margaret's  bridal  to  Parson  Roundy. 


THE  TEMPERANCE  MEETING 

IN 

THE    VILLAGE    OF    TATTERTOWN. 


The  theory  is  quite  fascinating,  that  drunkenness  may  be  removed  from  the  earth,  by^the  opera- 
lion  of  drunkards  themselves  ;  and,  while  contemplating  this  plausible  proj'et,  we  are  forcibly 
reminded  of  Professor  Babbidge's  machine  for  the  calculation  of  astronomical  and  nautical  prob 
lems,  which  prints  off  its  own  work  and  corrects  its  own  errors.  If  drunkards,  reformed,  can  b« 
mcved  to  persuade  and  reclaim  their  miserable  fellows,  as  the  tamed  elephants  of  India  are  em 
ployed  to  catch  the  wild  ones,  this  is  clearly  a  good  thing.  The  drunkard  is  excited,  and  aroused, 
«.nd  reformed  :  he  testifies  his  gratitude,  by  seizing  a  drowning  brother  by  the  locks,  and  drawing 
him  from  the  gulf.  Another  and  another  are  restored,  —  children  to  their  parents,  husbands  to  their 
wives.  Gaining  numerical  strength,  these  reclaimed  inebriates  band  together  in  societies  ;  and, 
with  the  eyes  of  Argus  and  the  hands  of  Briareus,  they  search  out  these  lost  and  scattered  sheep, 
and  fold  them  in  places  of  apparent  security,  which  may  be  likened  to  great  moral  finding-houses, 
where,  after  years  of  profligacy  and  abandonment,  neglected  wives  may  seek  their  husbands,  and 
orphans  may  find  their  fathers.  That  arm,  enervated  by  intemperance  and  sloth,  is  nerved  once 
more,  by  temperance  and  the  invigorating  labors  of  the  field  or  the  workshop.  If  this  were  the  end 
of  it, —  if  this  were  the  whole  story,  —  how  graceful,  how  celestial  it  would  be! 

But  there  is  another  side  to  this  picture  :  upon  this  it  is  highly  important  for  the  Christian,  the 
patriot,  the  lover  of  order  and  of  faw,  not  less  than  for  the  friend  of  temperance,  steadily  to  fix 
his  eye. 

Among  the  prevailing  follies  is  the  idea  of  the  omnipotence  of  moral  suasion  —  its  all-sufficiency 
for  carrying  forward  this  work  of  reform.  The  difficulty  seems  to  arise  from  a  total  disregard  of  that 
broad  distinction,  which  exists  between  the  oppressed  and  the  oppressor — between  the  poor,  pi'.ia 
ble  tippler,  and  his  cold-blooded  and  inflexible  destroyer.  It  would  seem,  to  many,  rather  oppress 
ive,  to  make  penal  statutes  for  the  punishment  of  individuals,  who  imprpvidently  throw  themselves 
in  the  way  of  those,  whose  profession  it  is  to  Jake  their  money,  and  possibly  their  lives  ;  is  it  there 
fore  just,  that  no  laws  should  exist  for  the  punishment  of  robbers  and  assassins?  The  absurdity  of 
this  notion  is  equally  monstrous  and  palpable.  Vanity  is,  very  likely,  at  the  bottom  of  it  all.  This 
new  school  of  reformers  professes  to  have  found  a  golden  road,  unknown  before.  Availing  of  this 
false  position,  the  rum-sellers  here  proposed  a  junction  of  their  energies;  in  other  words,  that  the 
wolves  and  the  sheep  should  walk  lovingly  together,  with  moral  sunsioi  for  their  common  phylac 
tery,  and  obtain  from  the  legislature  a  repeal  of  all  laws  forbidding  the  traffic.  Some  judicious 
friends  pointed  out  the  fangs  of  these  tender-hearted  associates,  and  the  wolves  were  baulked  of  their 

Ir  the  cause  of  temperance  be  worth  preserving,  pure  and  undefiled,  it  is  quite  time  for  its  old 
and  faithful  friends  to  reflect  upon  their  obligations,  and  come  to  the  rescue  ;  not  in  any  spirit  of 
opposition  or  hcstility,  but  with  the  talents,  experience,  and  weight  of  character,  the  influence  of 
which  is,  at  this  moment,  so  essentially  required  as  a  regulating  power. 


PART   FIRST. 

"  HALLOA  !  —  I  say  —  Squire  —  Squire  Periwig  —  halloa !  — 
back  your  topsail,  will  ye,  till  a  body  can  get  alongside/'  —  Upon 
this  salutation,  a  little  old  man,  in  a  gray  coat,  with  large  patte-pan 
.buttons,  leather  breeches,  and  a  cocked  hat,  supposed  to  be  the  last 
in  this  ancient  commonwealth,  stopped  short  in  his  progress  over 
Tattertown  common.  Wheeling  about,  and  resting  both  hands  upon 
the  top  of  his  hickory  staff,  he  awaited  the  approach  of  Captain 
Tarbox,  who  came  down  upon  him  at  the  rate  of  five  knots  an  hour 

Few  things,  within  the  whole  compass  of  comparable  matters, 
could  be  more  dissimilar  in  their  personal  appearance  than  the  cap 
tain  and  the  squire.  The  former  was  about  sixty  years  of  age,  of 


286  TEMPERANCE    MEETING  IN  TAT1  ERTOWN. 

an  uncommonly  robust  exterior,  with  a  countenance  full  of  ban  horn- 
mie,  and  a  temperament  as  zealous  and  straight-forward  as  a  north 
wester.  The  ocean  wave  had  been  the  home  of  his  adoption  ever 
since  he  literally  broke  loose  from  school,  and  ran  away  from  old 
master  Bircher,  preferring  salt  beef  at  sea  to  syntax  on  shore. 
Having  been  a  shrewd,  successful  navigator,  he  returned  at  last  to 
his  native  village  ;  and,  with  leisure  and  inclination  to  serve  the  pub 
lic,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  *the  confidence  of  his  fellow 
townsmen,  and  had  been  inducted  into  some  of  the  most  important 
offices,  in  the  gift  of  the  citizens  of  Tattertown. 

Squire  Periwig  was  a  man  of  some  seventy  winters.  He  had 
seen  very  little  of  that  portion  of  the  universe,  which  lay  beyond  the 
boundaries  of  Tattertown.  His  last  visit  to  the  metropolis  of  New 
England  occurred  about  twelve  months  after  the  evacuation  by  the 
British  troops,  during  the  war  of  the  revolution.  He  occasionally 
listened,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  amazement  and  incredulity, 
to  the  narratives  of  those,  who  professed  to  have  travelled  in  steam 
boats  and  upon  railways,  at  the  rate  of  twenty  miles  an  hour.  In 
truth,  Tattertown  was  shut  out  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  not  so 
effectually  by  its  tall  hills,  which  encompassed  it  on  every  side,  as  by 
its  distance  from  the  metropolis,  and  its  deficiency  in  those  objects  of 
commercial  interest,  which  attract  the  speculator  from  afar.  Squire 
Periwig's  views  of  men  and  things  were  not  remarkably  enlargeo. 
His  features  exhibited  that  puckerative  and  dried-apple  expression, 
which  is  more  peculiar  to  mummies  than  to  men,  and  is  perhaps 
more  common  in  Italian  catacombs  than  in  the  ordinary  walks  of 
life.  He  fancied  himself  to  have  a  gift  for  public  speaking.  He 
was  not  particularly  happy  on  such  occasions,  especially  on  account 
of  a  tortuous  or  vermicular  motion  of  his  lips.  This  was  so  pecul 
iar,  that  young  Rabbit,  a  journeyman  carpenter  in  the  village,  im 
pertinently  remarked  that  Squire  Periwig  threw  out  his  words  just 
as  his  centre-bit  threw  out  chips. 

Both  these  worthy  men  were  highly  esteemed  by  their  fellow 
townsmen  ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  captain's  popularity,  he  was 
not  always  certain  of  carrying  his  measures,  when  the  squire  put 
forth  the  very  best  of  his  energies  in  opposition.  They  continued, 
nevertheless,  on  excellent  terms.  A  short-lived  coolness  was  exhib 
ited  between  them,  when  the  captain  presented  the  town  with  a  full- 
length  figure  of  Diana,  being  the  figure-head  of  his  old  ship,  with  a 
request  that  it  might  be  placed  beneath  the  pulpit  of  the  meeting 
house.  Squire  Periwig  opposed  the  proposition  in  town-meeting 
Captain  Tarbox  replied  in  a  speech  of  twenty  minutes'  length  ;  but 
notwithstanding  the  numerous  precedents  which  he  referred  to,  ii) 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  287 

foreign  lands,  the  squire  said  it  was  a  heathenish  practice ;  and 
Bellwether,  the  butcher,  said  he  'd  as  lieve  see  a  ram's  head  and 
horns  stuck  up  there  any  day.  The  captain  went  off  in  a  huff,  and 
the  town  passed  a  vote  of  thanks,  offering  to  put  it  up  in  the  school- 
house,  and  then  adjourned  to  receive  the  captain's  answer.  During 
the  succeeding  night,  the  figure  was  stolen  away,  and  probably 
buried,  for  nothing  more  was  ever  heard  of  it ;  and  the  whole  affair, 
which  might  otherwise  have  set  the  inhabitants  by  the  ears,  was 
ore  long  forgotten. 

"Good  morning,  Captain  Tarbox,"  said  the  squire.  — "  A  fair 
wind  t'  ye,  squire,''  replied  the  captain  ;  "  I  hailed  ye  to  learn  what 
success  you  've  met  with  about  that  temperance  meeting."  —  "  It  '11 
be  an  expensive  thing,  captain,  and  I  really  don't  know  where  the 
money  's  to  come  from,"  replied  the  squire.  "  We  've  made  three 
trials  already,  and  bad  luck  enough  we  've  had  on  't.  All  this  ere 
philanthropy  business  must  pay  its  own  way,  you  know,  Captain 
Tarbox  ;  folks  are  tolerably  ready  to  come  to  the  meetings,  but 
they  're  awful  afeard  o'  the  cost  on  'em.  The  first  time,  you  re 
member  how  it  was,  we  thought  there  was  no  need  o'  going  to  the 
expense  o'  lighting  the  meet'n'us ;  so  folks  fetched  their  own  can 
dles  and  lanterns  ;  and,  when  they  got  fairly  into  their  seats,  and 
had  looked  about  to  see  who  was  there,  they  begun  to  blow  'em 
out.  Some  folks,  that  was  more  delicate  than  the  rest,  said  the 
smell  on  't  was  oncredible.  Mr.  Wheezer,  the  young  lawyer 
that  addressed  us,  told  me  it  e'enabout  did  for  him ;  and  he 
coughed  so  bad,  that  we  did  n't  git  more  than  one  word  in  five 
of  all  he  said.  Sartin  all  the  light  we  got  upon  the  subject  come 
from  the  speaker,  and  it  was  a  light  shining  in  a  pretty  dark  place, 
[  tell  ye. 

"  Next  time,  you  know,  we  voted  to  light  up ;  and,  when  I  told 
'em  as  how  they  'd  have  trouble  about  paying  for  so  many  candles, 
our  minister  thought  my  notions  was  altogether  behind  the  times. 
He  told  me,  the  temperance  cause  was  more  popular  than  I  thought 
for,  and  that  we  might  safely  rely  upon  a  generous  public.  So  we 
lighted  up  ;  and  old  Mr.  Greedy,  the  grocer,  who  looked  in,  a  minute 
or  so,  but  didn't  stay  long,  said  it  really  brought  on  his  old  com 
plaint,  to  see  sich  a  tarnal  waste  o'  taller."  —  "  His  old  complaint!" 
cried  the  captain ;  "his  old  complaint  against  temperance  meet 
ings,  you  mean."  —  "  No,  I  don't,"  replied  Squire  Periwig,  rather 
peevishly ;  "  you  are  a  leetle  too  apt  to  interrupt  a  body,  Captain 
Tarbox,  begging  o'  your  pardon  ;  I  mean  them  cramps,  for  which  he 
takes  hot  snakeroot.  Well,  we  had  an  excellent  discourse.  It  gin 
cidei  «.  lift,  but  went  'ight  agin  sperrit.  Well,  when  the  Rev.  Mr 


288  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOVTN. 

Moose  sot  down,  it  was  agreed  that  Squire  Tiger,  the  attorney,  and 
f  should  collect.  So  he  seized  his  hat  and  run  out  of  his  pew,  the 
minute  the  minister  had  gin  the  benediction.  Some  of  the  plaguy 
boys  had  hid  mine,  and  so,  as  I  saw  the  public  a  going,  I  e'en  took 
off  my  wig.  '  Stop  —  stop,  my  friends,'  cried  Mr.  Moose,  rising  in 
the  pulpit,  '  stop  for  the  collection  ;'  but  that  seemed  to  set  'em  a 
going  the  faster.  In  spite  of  all  we  could  do,  the  generous  public 
was  off  afore  we  could  go  round,  and,  jest  as  I  said,  we  had  to  make 
it  up  among  ourselves.  The  cost  o'  them  candles  was  two  dollars 
and  eighty-seven  cents  and  a  half;  and  every  cent  we  collected  was 
one  dollar  and  thirty-two  cents,  and  three  potatoes,  which  an  im 
pudent  sarpant  dropped  into  my  wig.  I  'm  for  temperance,  Captain 
Tarbox,  in  all  things,  and  o'  course,  in  the  consumption  o'  valuable 
candles. 

"You  know  what  a  failure  'twas  the  third  time.  We  was  to 
have  a  gentleman  from  the  city.  Pertiklar  pains  was  took  to  fix  all 
right;  we  writ  him  a  letter,  telling  him  we  was  poor;  couldn't 
afford  to  pay  for  a  lecture ;  but  would  pay  his  expenses  out  and 
home,  by  the  cheapest  route  ;  begged  him  to  reply,  not  by  mail,  but 
by  Squire  Terrapin,  who  would  come  home  from  the  legislature  on 
Saturday,  and  save  the  postage.  So  he  writ,  and  agreed  to  't. 
We  expected  he  'd  been  in  the  way  o'  seeing  things  done  smart,  so 
we  determined  to  light  up  handsome ;  and,  as  the  expense  would  be 
no  trifle,  Hopville  and  Pummicetown  clubbed  with  us.  I  writ  him 
word  to  come  direct  to  my  house ;  and  I  wish'd  I  had  n't,  for  you 
never  see  such  a  silly  lot  o'  pies  and  custards  and  nobody  knows 
what,  as  my  wife  fixed  for  the  occasion.  My  darters  got  a  hint 
that  he  was  a  bachelor ;  and  if  they  'd  been  expecting  General  Wash 
ington,  they  wouldn't  have  used  up  half  so  much  bergamot  and 
essence  o'  lemon.  Jerusha  had  been  down  to  the  city  and  passed 
a  week  with  her  aunt  Furnace,  whose  husband  keeps  the  Wild 
Boar  Tavern,  in  Puddle  Alley.  The  day  before  the  lecture,  I  saw 
her  up  in  the  rowen  loft,  a  working  away.  Says  I,  '  Jerush,  what 
are  you  at?'  —  'Nothing,  daddy,'  says  she.  —  'You  be,'  says  I. 
So  I  goes  up  the  ladder,  and  she  was  a  stuffing  lots  o'  rowen  into 
two  great  bags.  She  said  they  was  to  put  under  their  pillows.  So 
I  thought  no  more  on  't,  till  the  arternoon  o'.the  very  day,  when  in 
comes  Jerush  and  Peggy,  looking  like  all  possessed.  — '  What  ye 
got  there?'  says  I.  —  'Nothing,  daddy,'  said  they.  —  'Nothing!' 
gays  I.  '  I  never  saw  nothing  look  like  that ;'  so  I  lays  hold  on  't,  as 
Jerush  tried  to  run  out  o'  the  room,  and,  'twixt  us  both,  away  it 
comes ;  and,  sure  as  you  're  alive,  Captain  Tarbox,  that  are  identi 
cal  bajj  o'  roweri  as  she  was  a  fixing  up  in  the  loft.  So  I  told  'em, 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  28» 

if  they  was  cold,  to  put  on  warm,  thick  pettLoats,  but  rc<wen  was 
scarce,  and  I  would  n't  have  it  wasted  that  way  no  how ;  and  I  made 
'em  carry  it  back,  every  mite  on  't.  When  Mrs.  Periwig  came  in, 
I  told  her  what  I  had  done  ;  and  she  said  the  men  better  mind  their 
own  matters,  and  not  interfere  with  the  female  department.  She 
said  Jerusha  told  her  'twas  the  fashion,  and  there  was  not  a  vir 
tuous  woman  in  the  city  that  didn't  wear  one.  'Well,'  says  I, 
'  then  I  know  why  rowen  's  riz.'  The  words  were  scarce  spoken, 
afore  I  hear'd  a  violent  knocking  at  the  door.  '  Well,'  said  I,  '  if 
hi;  knocks  like  that,  the  pulpit  cushion,  which  has  jest  been  repaired , 
ttill  stand  no  chance  with  him  to-night ;'  for  I  hadn't  the  slightest 
doubt  but  it  was  the  lecturer,  who  had  arrived.  So  I  went  to  the 
ijocr  myself,  and  opened  it  very  formally ;  but,  instead  of  the  lec 
turer,  lo  and  behold,  it  was  nobody  but  Vat,  the  foreman  of  Purdy, 
the  brewer  of  Hopville.  He  said  Mr.  Purdy  sent  his  compliments, 
and  wished  me  to  know  that  the  friends  of  temperance,  in  their  vil 
lage,  had  learned  that  the  lecturer,  who  had  been  invited,  was  one  of 
the  new  sort,  called  teetotallers,  and  that  he  went  right  agin  beer, 
and  that  they  had  decided  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  Vat, 
who  saw  I  was  very  much  disappointed,  said  he  was  dreadful  sorry 
it  happen 'd  so,  but  he  made  up  all  sorts  of  crooked  faces  to  keep 
from  laughing,  and  it  was  evident  the  villain  was  almost  tickled  to 
death.  He  had  n't  been  gone  ten  minutes  afore  a  messenger  comes 
from  Pummicetown,  pretty  much  of  the  same  sort,  stating,  that  the 
people  there  were  in  a  real  uproar  ;  and  that  they  had  unanimously 
resolved  to  hear  nothing  agin  cider.  They  even  went  so  far  as  to 
threaten  tar  and  feathers,  but  finally  settled  down  upon  the  more 
humane  proposal  of  Bill  Merryweather,  —  a  droll  fellow  he  was, — 
to  catch  the  lecturer,  and  tie  him  in  an  empty  barrel,  and  fill  it  up 
with  cider  as  high  as  his  nose,  and  compel  him  to  save  himself  from 
.»eir.g  drowned,  by  drinking  it  down  to  the  level. 

*•  Upon  hearing  this  I  felt  really  scared  for  the  poor  man^  and  sent 
•ff  a  messenger  to  stop  him  on  the  way,  and  not  only  save  him  from 
fiarrn,  but  ourselves  from  unnecessary  expense.  I  tell  you,  Captain 
1'arbox,  it 's  not  the  easy  matter  you  suppose  to  get  up  a  temper 
ance  meeting." 

"  Well,  old  boy,"  cried  the  captain,  thrusting  both  hands  into  tho 
capacious  pockets  of  his  shaggy  pea  jacket,  "spun  your  yarn  out, 
ey|"  —  «  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  at  present,  Captain  Tarbox," 
replied  the  squire,  rather  nettled,  apparently,  by  the  captain's 
familiar  style.  —  "Well,  then,"  he  rejoined,  "pipe  up  your  pa 
tience,  and  hear  what  I  've  got  to  say.  You  're  a  leetle  behind 
the  times.  Why  they  don't  do  the  thing  now  as  they  used  to. 

VOL.  n.  25 


290  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IT*   TATTERTOWN. 

The  old  fashion  used  to  be  this  :  they  began  with  a  prayer ;  then 
they  had  a  hymn ;  then  followed  a  dignified  discourse,  a  regular 
three-decker ;  then  a  hymn  ;  and  the  minister  clapped  on  the  night 
cap  with  a  benediction.  That  ?8  the  way  they  us'd  to  fix  it.  That  'a 
all  done  with.  'T  would  be  just  as  odd  to  have  such  old-fashioned, 
musty  proceedings  now-a-days,  as  to  ascend  the  Mississippi  in  a  fiat, 
pulling  up  by  the  bushes.  So,  upon  the  stage,  they  used  to  have 
their  regular  tragedies  and  comedies.  That 's  all  gone  by.  They 
bring  on  their  wild  beasts,  and  trot  'em  over  the  stage,  now-a-days. 
I  never  saw  people  half  so  much  pleased  with  Hamlet,  or  Macbeth, 
or  Richard  the  Third,  as  with  the  simple  exhibition  ot  a  little,  ua- 
curried  jackass,  led  on  by  an  actor,  in  the  character  of  Gil  B^aa, 
commencing  his  travels.  The  animal  was  a  little  refractory,  anil, 
by  kicking  out  his  legs  and  braying,  he  call'd  forth  peals  of  applause ; 
and,  when  the  actor  begged  the  audience  to  excuse  the  indiscre 
tions  of  the  young  performer,  as  it  was  his  first  appearance  on  any 
stage,  the  shouts  of  rapturous  acclamation  were  quite  equal  to  any 
thing,  ever  bestowed  on  Garrick  or  Talma.  A  jackass,  Squire 
Periwig,  yes  sir,  I  repeat  it,  a  jackass  is  just  what  is  wanted,  to 
make  a  temperance  meeting  go  off  like  a  Baltimore  clipper  from  her 
well  greased  ways."  —  "Why,  Captain  Tarbox,"  exclaimed  the 
squire,  "  are  you  in  your  sober  senses  !  Would  you  carry  a  real 
jackass  into  the  sanctuary?"  —  "  Squire,"  cried  the  captain,  "  you 
don't  understand  the  thing  at  all.  It  is  so  odd,  so  unexpected,  .so 
entirely  contrary  to  the  plainest  rules  of  common  sense,  to  have  a 
real,  live  jackass  in  a  church,  that  thousands  would  come  for  the 
very  oddity  of  the  thing;  and  then,  friend  Periwig,  those,  as  Oliver 
Goldsmith  says,  who  came  to  laugh,  would  remain,  not  to  pray,  to 
be  sure,  but  for  a  more  worthy  purpose  than  to  contemplate  the 
iackass."  —  "Never,"  cried  the  squire,  emphatically,  with  both 
hands  planting  his  hickory  upon  the  ground,  "  never  will  I  give  my 
consent  to  suffer  a  jackass  to  be  exhibited  in  our  meet'n'us."  — 
"Didn't  suppose  you  would,"  said  the  captain;  "but  I've  no 
doubt,  for  all  that,  of  the  truth  of  what  I  say." — "Besides," 
Tejoined  the  squire,  "  it  would  cost  no  less  for  candles."  —  "  Give 
yourself  no  uneasiness  about  the  candles,"  said  the  captain.  "  1 
will  put  you  at  ease  about  the  candles  presently.  The  way  they 
manage  these  matters  now  is  to  have  one  or  more  impressive 
addresses  from  grave  and  dignified  gentlemen,  and  then  a  comic 
song  or  too,  or  something  funny,  in  the  way  of  mimickry  or  buf 
foonery,  between  ;  a  sort  of  facetious  interlude.  The  effect  of  this, 
as  you  see,  Squire  Periwig,  is  most  excellent ;  for,  however  impress 
ive  and  solemnizing  the  addresses  of  the  grave  speakers  may  be. 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  291 

the  audience  is  speedily  relieved  from  all  such  unnecessary  solem 
nity,  by  this  happy  contrivance."  —  "  Pray,  Captain  Tarbox,"  said 
the  squire,  "  if  we  must  have  a  temperance  address,  would  n't  it  be 
the  cheapest  way  to  invite  our  minister,  Mr.  Moose?"  —  "Never 
do,"  said  the  captain,  with  great  confidence,  "  never  do,  sir  ;  M*. 
Moose  is  a  good  temperance  man,  of  the  old  school ;  a  sound,  logical 
reasoner ;  has  a  great  deal  to  say  upon  the  subject ;  and  his  appeals 
to  the  feelings  are  irresistible.  But  there  is  not  one  particle  of 
grimace  or  buffoonery  about  him.  You  want  a  comical  fellow,  but 
the  best  man  for  you  is  a  real  funny  minister,  one,  wh»  is  so  devoted 
to  the  cause  of  temperance,  that  he  is  willing,  for  its  sake,  to  sacri 
fice  a  portion  of  his  clerical  dignity.  The  same  reason  which 
induces  the  people  to  flock  after  a  jackass,  exhibited  in  a  church,  or 
even  on  the  stage,  operates,  in  some  degree,  upon  those,  who  collect 
to  hear  a  clergyman  crack  temperance  jokes  in  a  pulpit."  — "  Well, 
captain,"  said  the  squire,  "you  seem  to  have  thought  more  upon 
this  subject  than  I  supposed  you  had,  and  I  should  be  quite  willing, 
for  one,  to  leave  the  matter  to  your  management,  if  you  could  satisfy 
me  that  we  —  that  we  should  not  be  obliged  to  —  to — "  —  "  Yes," 
cried  the  captain,  "I  understand  you,  —  that  you  should  not  be 
obliged  to  pay  too  much  for  the  candles.  Well,  that  shall  be 
settled  ;  fifteen  or  twenty  dollars  will  probably  cover  the  whole 
expenses.  Your  worthy  old  neighbor,  the  widow  Seely,  whose  son 
has  signed  the  total-abstinence  pledge,  and  reformed  entirely,  says 
she  will  pay  half  the  expense  most  cheerfully,  but  not  more  cheer 
fully  than  I  will  pay  the  other."  —  "That's  very  handsome,  Cap 
tain  Tarbox,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  and  whom  do  you  propose  to  have 
as  a  lecturer?"  —  "The  Rev.  Mr.  Crackaway,  above  all  others,  if 
I  can  get  him,"  replied  the  captain.  —  "Isn't  he  one  o' them 
teetotallers,  Captain  Tarbox  ?"  —  "  To  be  sure,"  replied  the  captain. 
"  I  don't  want  a  fellow  to  caulk  half  my  ship,  and  leave  the  other 
open."  —  "Well  "  said  the  squire,  "I'm  afeard  there  is  n't  one 
of  our  selectmen  that  '11  go  to  hear  him,  and  I  know  a  number  that 
won't ;  but,  if  you  and  the  widow  Seely  's  going  to  pay  for  't,  why, 
for  all  I  see,  it 's  your  own  consarn,  and  you  've  a  right  to  fix  it 
pretty  much  your  own  way."  —  "Why,  Squire  Periwig,"  replied 
the  captain,  "  the  widow  told  me,  yesterday,  that  her  son  Eli,  that 's 
reformed,  you  know,  was  for  years  the  most  powerful  talker  against 
the  distillers,  and  all  sorts  of  ardent  spirit,  that  she  ever  heard,  and 
never  so  much  so,  as  when  he  was  just  about  half  drunk  on  beer  and 
cider."  — "  Well,  well,"  said  the  squire,  "I  don't  know  but  the 
widow  's  half  right.  She  's  an  amazing  smart  one.  When  will 
you  have  the  meeting?"  —  "  Next  Friday,"  said  the  captain,  "tha 


292  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

fifth  of  November,  the  anniversary  of  the  gunpowdei  plot ;  and  yon 
shall  see  if  we  don't  blow  the  demijohns  sky  high,  my  old  boy."  — 
"  Captain  Tarbox,"  said  the  squire,  "I  really  wish  you  would  leave 
off  them  words,  when  speaking  to  me."  —  "Well,  squire,  I  will, 
but  I  'm  so  pleased  to  see  you  come  into  the  plan  so  readily,  that  I 
forgot  myself — no  offence,  squire.  Do  send  your  folks  round  with 
notices  in  all  directions.  I  '11  get  some  printed  in  the  city,  and 
we  '11  post  'em  up.  Tell  Jerusha  to  let  the  women  know  it,  all 
round,  and  if  she  will,  she  shall  have  a  bustle  as  big  as  a  chancel 
lor's  woolsack,  and  I'll  find  the  rowen."  —  "  Pshaw,  captain,  don't 
mention  that,"  said  the  squire.  "  I  ?11  tell  o'  the  meeting,  and  my 
folks  shall  go  round.  Good  day,  captain.  —  By  the  way,  Captain 
Tarbox,  I'm  thinking  you  can  light  up  respectable  with  three 
pounds  o'  candles."  —  "  Don't  trouble  your  head  about  the  candles," 
said  the  captain  ;  "  that 's  our  affair.  Good  day  t'  ye,  Squire  Peri 
wig." 

Captain  Tarbox  left  no  stone  unturned  to  accomplish  his  worthy 
object,  and  ensure  a  large  congregation.  He  rode  and  ran  in  all 
directions,  and  caused  a  drag  committee  to  be  organized,  for  the 
purpose  of  bringing  to  the  meeting  the  aged  and  infirm,  the  lame 
and  the  lazy,  even  from  beyond  the  boundaries  of  Tattertown  ;  and 
his  emissaries  spread  the  news  in  all  the  neighboring  villages.  A 
very  foolish  report  became  current,  for  a  time,  that  some  extraordi 
nary  performances  would  be  exhibited  in  the  meeting-house.  It 
was  even  confidently  asserted,  that  the  old  widow  Seely  would 
address  the  assembly  from  the  pulpit ;  that  Captain  Tarbox  would 
perform,  in  the  broad  aisle,  a  dance,  which  he  had  seen  exhibited  by 
the  New  Zealanders  ;  and  that  Squire  Periwig  would  conclude  the 
evening's  entertainment  with  a  comic  song.  These  weak  inven 
tions  of  the  enemy  were  not  ineffectual.  »They  certainly  disturbed 
the  equanimity  of  the  squire,  who  took  the  trouble  to  visit  almost 
every  house  in  the  village,  for  the  purpose  of  contradicting  the 
wicked  rumors.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Moose,  though  he  gave  no  credit 
to  the  report,  was  well  aware  that  Captain  Tarbox  was  rather  a 
bold  practitioner ;  he  therefore  wrote  him  a  respectful  note,  express 
ing  a  hope,  that  nothing  would  be  done,  unbecoming  the  occasion 
or  the  place  of  meeting.  Captain  Tarbox  immediately  waited  on 
the  minister  in  person,  and  gave  him  such  assurances  as  set  him 
perfectly  at  ease. 

The  eventful  Friday  at  length  arrived,  and  the  success  of  the  cap 
tain's  exertions  was  amply  demonstrated,  in  the  complete  occupa 
tion  of  every  seat  in  the  meeting-house.  The  well-known  charac 
ters  and  countenances  of  many,  who  had  assembled,  that  evening, 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  293 

plainly  proved,  that  they  had  rome  less  to  give  a  patient  hearing  to 
such  arguments  as  might  be  advanced,  in  favor  of  temperance,  than 
to  be  tickled  and  refreshed,  by  the  drollery  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Cracks- 
way. 

When  a  congregation  has  fairly  collected,  and  all  who  may  rea 
sonably  be  expected  to  arrive,  have  been  installed  for  a  few  minutes 
in  their  pews,  the  passage  of  time  seems  immeasurably  slow,  before 
the  services  begin.  Such  certainly  was  the  case,  upon  the  present' 
occ.'ision.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Moose  had  drawn  forth  his  faithful,  old, 
silver  time-keeper,  again  and  again.  Half  an  hour  had  already 
passed  away,  when  a  sudden  noise  in  the  porch  seemed  to  announce 
the  arrival  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Crackaway.  All  heads  were  irnme 
diately  turned  towards  the  door.  It  opened  —  and  the  two  Miss 
Periwigs  marched  up  the  broad  aisle,  so  singularly  caparisoned,  as  to 
leave  no  doubt  upon  the  minds  of  Captain  Tarbox  and  the  squire, 
who  were  in  the  secret,  that  these  perverse  young  women  had  taken 
advantage  of  their  father's  absence,  to  help  themselves  to  rowen. 
Four  young  men  took  their  places  on  the  pulpit  stairs,  relinquishing 
their  seats,  which  were  barely  sufficient,  for  the  accommodation  of 
the  two  Miss  Periwigs.  All  was  again  reduced  to  silence,  speediij 
interrupted,  however,  by  a  sudden  outcry  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
church ;  a  round  board,  whose  circumference  had  been  perforated 
with  a  number  of  holes  for  the  occasion,  each  containing  a  tallow 
candle,  had  been  ingeniously  suspended,  under  the  direction  of 
Captain  Tarbox,  to  the  ceiling  of  the  meeting-house,  by  four  small 
cords  uniting  in  one.  Most  unhappily,  however,  the  flame  of  one 
of  the  candles  had  come  in  contact  with  the  cord,  and  burnt  it 
entirely  off.  The  circular  board  consequently  inclined  suddenly  to 
one  side,  and  three  of  the  candles  fell  directly  on  the  squire's  wig, 
who  sat  at  the  head  of  his  pew.  The  wig  was  immediately  on 
fire ;  and  serious  mischief  might  have  ensued,  but  for  the  prompt 
exertions  of  Captain  Tarbox,  who  instantly  snatched  it  from  the 
squire's  head,  and  stamped  upon  it,  in  the  broad  aisle,  until  the 
flames  were  extinguished.  It  is  true,  though  almost  incredible, 
that  some  persons  present  conceived  this  unhappy  accident  to  have 
been  prearranged,  and  the  captain's  efforts  in  the  aisle,  in  extin 
guishing  the  fire,  to  be  the  commencement  of  the  New  Zealand 
dance.  It  was  so  generally  received  an  opinion,  that  antics  of 
some  sort  were  indispensable  to  sustain  the  faltering  interest  of  the 
public,  in  the  temperance  reform. 

This  unfortunate  accident  was  speedily  repaired,  so  far  as  thp 
burnt  cordage  was  concerned.  Three  new  candles  were  substituted 
for  those,  which  had  been  completely  demolished  in  their  fall.  The 

VOL.  n.  25* 


294  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTEKTOWN. 

captain  seemed  perfectly  at  home ;  and  standing  on  the  pew  raD ,  as 
if  upon  the  yard-arm  of  the  Diana,  he  spliced  the  rigging  with  in 
conceivable  facility.  The  squire  clapped  on  the  balance  of  hia 
periwig,  and  matters  soon  settled  into  their  original  condition. 

The  impatience  of  the  assembly,  ere  long,  began  to  manifest 
itself,  in  the  restless  movement  of  its  component  parts.  The  squire 
looked  round  with  increasing  anxiety,  upon  the  waning  candles  ; 
and,  after  going,  three  or  four  times,  to  the  door  of  the  church, 
and  listening  in  vain  for  the  sound  of  wheels,  Captain  Turbox  was 
obliged,  at  last,  to  ascend  the  pulpit  stairs,  and  announce  to  the 
minister  his  belief,  that  the  speaker,  whom  they  expected  had 
failed  to  keep  his  appointment. 

After  a  confabulation,  which  lasted  four  or  five  minutes,  Parson 
Moose  rose  in  his  pulpit,  to  the  great  consternation  of  some  of  the 
congregation,  who  had  serious  fears  that  he  was  about  to  substitute 
a  sermon  for  the  temperance  address ;  and,  in  anticipation  of  such  a 
catastrophe,  not  a  few  had  already  seized  their  hats,  and  opened 
their  pew  doors.  Parson  Moose,  who  perfectly  understood  the 
nature  of  this  graceless  demonstration,  and  who  was  not  without  a 
spice  of  dry  humor,  instantly  exclaimed,  "  Stop,  my  friends,  one 
moment,  if  you  please  ;  it  is  not  intended  to  detain  you  against 
your  wishes.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Crackaway,  who  was  expected  here 
to  address  you,  has  not  arrived.  It  is  so  much  after  the  appointed 
time,  that  I  fear  he  will  not.  What  is  it  your  pleasure  to  do? 
Shall  we  return  to  our  own  homes,  or  will  you  propose  some  plan 
for  passing  the  evening  profitably  here  ?" 

There  followed  a  pause  of  some  length,  when  Squire  Periwig 
rose,  bowed  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Moose,  and  planted  both  hands  on  the 
top  of  his  hickory  staff",  a  never- failing  indication,  in  every  town 
meeting,  for  thirty  years,  that  he  intended  to  speak.  "  Reverend 
sir,"  said  the  squire,  "  a  deal  o'  pains  has  been  taken  to  collect  this 
congregation  together,  and  considerable  expense.  This  meet1  n' us 
was  never  lit  up  so  afore,  since  it  was  built.  I  was  at  the  raisin, 
jest  forty -three  years  ago.  If  we  should  break  up  without  making 
a  profit  o'  this  occasion,  and  leave  these  here  candles  all  lit  up  for 
nothing,  I  should  say  it  was  a  burning  shame."  The  squire, 
having  uttered  these  words,  suddenly  resumed  his  seat,  and  very 
unexpectedly  to  those,  who  were  accustomed  to  the  prolix  manner, 
tn  which  he  commonly  exhibited  his  oratorical  powers.  It  was  sur 
mised  by  some,  that  a  consciousness,  that  his  wig  was  half  burnt 
off,  had  shortened  his  harangue. 

He  had  no  sooner  resumed  his  seat,  than  Captain  Tarbox  aio^e. 
'Parson  Moose,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  strong  sea  voice,  "  I  am 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  295 

entirely  of  Squire  Periwig's  opinion.  As  I  have  had  something  to 
do  in  getting  up  this  meeting,  I  should  be  greatly  mortified  if  our 
friends  should  be  obliged  to  dispense,  without  any  amusement  what 
ever.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Crackaway  has  disappointed  us.  Had  he 
kept  his  promise,  we  should  have  had  fun  enough.  From  what  I 
have  heard  of  him,  I  don't  know  that  such  an  old  craft  as  this  meet 
ing-house  would  have  kept  its  timbers  together.  But  there  is  no 
occasion  for  despair.  I  am  told  there  is  a  gentleman  here,  who  ia 
willing  to  go  up  in  the  pulpit,  and  hit  off  a  real  drunkard,  so  that 
you  would  n't  know  the  difference.  I  have  also  been  informed,  tl.at 
Applclon,  the  blind  fiddler,  is,  at  this  moment,  fortunately  here ;  and 
Mr.  Boogler  has  expressed  a  willingness  to  give  us  Old  King  Cole." 
This  announcement  was  received  by  a  large  portion  of  the  assembly, 
with  a  murmur  of  approbation  ;  and  Appleton,  encouraged  by  what 
he  heard,  had  drawn  his  fiddle  from  its  case,  and  was  already  screw 
ing  up  the  strings,  and  putting  it  in  tune.  "  Heaven  forbid  !" 
exclaimed  the  venerable  clergyman,  with  a  countenance  full  of  pain 
ful  solemnity  ;  —  "  Heaven  forbid,  that  I  should  live  to  witness  such 
a  desecration  of  this  holy  place.  Shall  we  convert  God's  holy 
temple  into  a  play-house!  A  drunkard,  or  the  representative  of  a 
drunkard,  in  my  pulpit !  Shall  these  consecrated  walls,  in  which  I 
have  officiated  for  more  than  forty  years,  resound  with  the  notes 
of  profane  ribaldry,  or  with  any  other  than  such  as  are  poured  forth 
for  the  glory  of  God !  Can  it  be  possible,  my  friends,  that  the 
exhibition  of  a  drunkard,  as  an  object  of  ridicule,  entitled  as  he  is  to 
our  deepest  commiseration  and  regard ,  should  be  accounted  a  legit 
imate  part  of  that  machinery,  by  which  this  high  and  holy  enter 
prise  is  to  be  advanced  !  Is  this  righteous  cause,  whose  earliest 
recollections  are  associated  in  our  minds  with  some  of  the  greatest 
names  our  country  has  produced,  —  Dexter,  and  Dane,  and  Wards- 
worth,  and  Worcester,  —  fallen  so  very  low,  as  to  require,  for  its 
support,  these  artificial  aids  from  stage-players  and  buffoons  !  If  so, 
it  will  ere  long  sink  into  contempt  and  oblivion." 

This  strong  and  entirely  unexpected  appeal  was  irresistible.  Mora 
*han  a  dozen  of  the  graver  members  of  the  society  were  at  once  upon 
their  feet,  their  countenances  expressive  of  entire  approbation  of 
Parson  Moose's  sentiments.  —  "Reverend  sir,"  cried  Squire  Peri 
wig,  striking  the  end  of  his  hickory  violently  on  the  floor,  "  I  am 
agin  singing  King  Cole  in  this  meet'n'us ;  and  I  must  say,  sir  — 
yes  sir,  I  must — with  all  my  respect  for  Captain  Tarbox,  I  was 
sorry  to  hear  him  call  this  venerable  meet'n'us,  by  such  a  disrespect 
ful  name  as  a  craft."  —  "  Reverend  sir,"  said  a  tall,  slender  person 
age,  with  a  pale  but  expressive  countenance,  —  and  all  eyes  were 


896  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

turned  upon  the  village  schoolmaster,  old  Mr.  Merlin,  —  "  Reverend 
sir,  with  your  leave,  I  will  propose,  as  a  substitute  for  the  lecture, 
which  it  seems  we  are  not  to  have,  that  some  of  us,  who  have  any 
details  in  our  possession,  connected  with  this  interesting  subject,  and 
whose  recital  may  be  profitable  to  this  assembly,  should  be  invited 
to  relate  them.  Squire  Periwig,  who  was  born  in  this  village,  and 
has  resided  here  so  many  years,  cannot  fail  to  recollect  some  inter 
esting  passages,  which  are  well  worth  the  recital.  Captain  Tarbox, 
I  should  presume,  can  give  us  some  incidents,  which  have  occurred 
under  his  observation,  at  sea  and  in  foreign  lands.  And  you,  sir, 
yourself,  I  trust,  will  contribute  to  our  useful  entertainment,  in  a 
similar  manner." 

The  people,  so  called,  in  the  hands  of  an  ingenious  operator,  are 
very  much  like  clay  in  the  hands  of  *he  potter.  This  assembly,  so 
ready,  but  a  moment  before,  to  approve  the  preposterous  proposal 
of  Captain  Tarbox,  were  now  equally  in  favor  of  Mr.  Merlin's  sug 
gestion. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  agin  Mr.  Merlin's  plan,"  said  the  squire. 
"  I  'm  not  much  of  a  story-teller  ;  but,  if  he  '11  lead  off,  I  '11  follow 
as  well  as  I  am  able." 

"  I  have  no  objection,  Reverend  sir,"  said  Mr.  Merlin  ;  "  and,  as 
we  have  lost  some  time  in  preliminaries  already,  I  will  consume  no 
more.  I  have  often  been  disposed  to  trace  back  the  effect  of  intem 
perance  to  its  remote  causes  ;  and  I  have  been  occasionally  as  much 
surprised  to  find  the  original  source  precisely  where  it  was,  as  was 
the  traveller  Bruce,  to  discover,  in  two  small  fountains  in  Abyssinia, 
the  sources  of  the  Nile.  Drunkenness  is  defined  a  disturbance  of 
the  functions  of  the  brain  and  nerves,  by  the  use  of  alcohol.  Many 
other  stimulants  will  produce  the  same  effect.  Anger  is  a  species 
of  drunkenness  or  intoxication,  and  every  passion,  unduly  gratified, 
presents  a  somewhat  similar  result.  In  all  these  cases,  the  func 
tions  of  the  brain  and  nerves  are  disturbed.  He,  that  striveth  for 
the  mastery,  should  be  temperate  in  all  things.  I  have  been  a 
school-master  for  many  years  ;  and  of  those  boys  who  have  become 
drunkards,  at  some  period  of  their  lives,  I  have  found  very  few, 
who  had  not  been  devoted,  with  more  than  common  ardor,  to  the 
gratification  of  some  particular  passion.  The  absence  of  drunken 
ness,  among  the  Quakers,  is  not  so  directly  the  result  of  their  con 
ventional  interdiction  of  the  use  of  spirit,  as  of  that  soothing  quietism, 
that  characteristic  calm,  which  pervades  them  as  a  class,  and  won 
derfully  enables  them  to  keep  their  wholesome  resolutions.  The 
habit  of  excitement  is  a  continuing  inward  fire,  which  requires  fuel 
of  some  sort.  The  brain  and  nerves,  long  and  habitually  excited  by 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  297 

«ome  cause,  though  in  itself  originally  painful,  seem,  for  a  time,  not 
less  disturbed  by  a  removal  of  the  cause  ;  and,  if  it  be  no  longer  in 
force,  they  solicit  the  application  of  some  other  exciting  principle  01 
power.  A  contemplation  of  this  fact  plainly  exhibits  the  absurdity 
of  expecting  a  drunkard's  reformation,  upon  his  pledge  to  abstain 
from  distilled  spirit,  however  faithfully  observed,  if  he  be  permitted 
to  resort  to  cider  or  other  inebriants. 

"  When  I  was  a  young  man,  J "  at  this  moment  the  atten 
tion  of  the  company  was  attracted,  to  Squire  Periwig,  who  had  risen 
from  his  seat,  and  stood  pointing  his  hickory  stick  at  an  angle  of 
forty-five  ;  the  speaker  observed  this  incident  and  paused  : —  "  I  'm 
sorry  to  interrupt,1'  said  the  squire,  "  but  there  's  a  great  thief  in 
two  o'  them  candles,  and  the  taller  's  swealing  away  like  nothing.'* 
The  squire's  solicitude  about  the  candles  was  appeased  by  the  sex 
ton,  and  Mr.  Merlin  proceeded.  "  When  I  was  a  young  man,  I 
kept  a  school  in  the  village  of  Gooseberry.  Everybody  has  rambled 
as  far  as  the  pretty  village  of  Gooseberry.  In  this  village  dwelt 
Squire  Mushroom,  who  was  supposed  to  own  all  the  factories  and 
two  thirds  of  the  bank.  His  word  was  law  among  the  men  ;  Mrs. 
Mushroom's,  among  the  women  ;  and  master  Aminadab's  among 
the  children,  from  one  end  of  Gooseberry  to  the  other.  Aminadab, 
or,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  Minny,  for  convenience,  or  perhaps 
on  account  of  his  small  stature,  was  a  fiery  little  fellow,  with  carroty 
hair,  high  and  spreading  cheek-bones,  an  uncommonly  sharp  nose 
and  chin,  and  two  sharp  small  eyes  as  black  as  coals.  As  his  nose 
was  always  red,  from  his  cradle,  his  eyes  and  nose  together  resem 
bled  two  agates  and  a  ruby,  in  a  mourning  ring.  The  sum  total  of 
his  appearance  was  as  near  to  that  of  a  large  fox,  as  one  thing  could 
be  to  another.  He  employed  a  considerable  portion  of  his  time  in 
setting  his  dog,  Snarl,  on  the  horses,  sheep,  fowls,  and  children, 
who  came  in  sight  of  his  father's  premises.  It  was  a  great  source 
of  delight  to  Minny,  if  he  could,  by  letting  down  the  bars  after  dark, 
entice  all  the  cows  in  the  neighborhood  into  Daddy  Grumble's  barley- 
field.  Whatever  wanton  act  of  mischief  was  done,  the  good  people 
of  Gooseberry  always  attributed  it  to  Aminadab  Mushroom,  or,  as 
he  was  termed  on  such  occasions,  '  that  red  devil's  bird,  Minny 
Mush.'  It  was  not  safe  to  resent  these  trespasses,  which  Minny 
committed.  Upon  one  occasion,  farmer  Trott  had  every  long  hair 
in  his  nag's  tail  pulled  out  by  Minny,  to  make  snares  for  blue  jays. 
This  made  the  farmer  very  angry,  as  he  had  just  been  made  a 
colonel,  and  the  nag  was  good  for  nothing  on  the  parade,  without 
ihe  tail.  In  the  first  moment  of  anger,  he  seized  Miuny,  and  ducked 
lu'm  in  a  tanpit,  and  flogged  him  into  the  bargain  Minny  ran  home 


298  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

yelling  that  he'd  have  his  revenge.  Next  morning  ihe  farmer's 
green  melons  were  all  cut  off  the  vines ;  and  Squire  Mushroom 
bought  the  farm,  and  turned  Trott  off,  at  the  shortest  notice. 

"  Moses  Meadows,  the  son  of  an  honest  farmer,  was  the  particu 
lar  object  of  Minny's  hatred.  He  hated  him  in  general,  because  he 
was  the  best  boy  in  master  Thwackum's  school ;  and  he  hated  him 
in  particular,  because,  when  the  master  inquired  who  broke  his 
hour-glass,  and  little  Tom  Tibbs  was  about  to  be  whipped  for  it, 
upon  the  evidence  of  Minny,  Moses  rose,  and,  before  the  whole 
school,  stated  that  he  was  looking  in  at  the  window,  before  school, 
on  the  day  when  Minny  had  had  his  ears  boxed,  and  that  he  heard 
him  say  he  would  have  his  revenge;  and  at  the  same  time,  he 
knocked  down  the  hour-glass  with  the  poker.  Upon  this,  Minny 
had  a  terrible  whipping ;  and,  after  school,  he  told  Moses  he  'd  have 
his  revenge.  In  the  morning  of  that  day,  Moses  fed  his  three  white 
rabbits.  Next  morning,  they  were  found  dead.  In  such  terror  was 
Minny  held  in  the  village,  that  Goody  Cringe  offered  him  half  her 
pears,  if  he  would  not  take  the  whole.  Farmer  Meadows  charged 
him  with  killing  Moses'  rabbits,  upon  which  Minny  told  the  farmer 
he  lied,  who  jumped  over  the  wall,  and  birched  the  young  dog 
handsomely,  who  clinched  his  little  fist,  and  screamed  loud  enough 
to  split  his  lungs,  that  he'd  have  his  revenge.  The  squire  came  in  a 
great,  red  rage,  to  call  the  farmer  to  account.  Farmer  Meadows 
was  a  member  of  the  society  of  Friends,  and  perfectly  independent 
in  his  circumstances.  The  dialogue  between  them  was  very  de 
scriptive  of  their  respective  characters.  '  You  are  a  Quaker  rascal,' 
said  the  squire.  '  Nay,  friend  Mushroom,  thee  is  not  in  thy  right 
mind.'  *  I  have  a  great  mind  to  come  over  the  wall  and  thrash  you, 
you  old  rascal,'  said  the  squire.  *  Nay,  friend  Mushroom,  I  think 
thy  great  mind  will  not  mislead  thee  so  far,'  said  the  farmer.  *  You 
are  an  impudent  fellow,'  replied  the  squire.  '  Nay,  friend,'  said  the 
"armer,  '  thee  is  no  judge.'  '  You  shall  hear  from  me  again,'  said 
he  squire,  clapping  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  shaking  his  whip  in  the 
air.  '  Fare  thee  well,  friend  Mushroom,'  said  farmer  Meadows,  as 
the  squire  rode  away.  While  this  colloquy  was  going  on,  in  front 
of  the  house,  Minny  had  fastened  a  cord  to  the  leg  of  the  bench, 
that  supported  the  farmer's  beehives,  and  tied  the  other  end  to  old 
Dobbin's  collar,  who  had  been  harnessed  for  the  plough,  which  was 
down  in  the  field.  After  the  squire  had  gone,  the  farmer  took 
Dobbin's  bridle  to  lead  him  off,  when,  at  the  first  step,  down  came 
all  the  hives,  and,  in  an  instant,  the  air  was  filled  with  an  irritated 
little  host,  who  fastened  on  poor  old  Dobbin,  and  literally  stung  him 
to  death  The  poor  farmer  himself  was  also  severely  injured.  No 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  299 

one  doubted  that  Minny  was  the  author  of  this  cruel  deed.  When 
Moses  met  him  the  next  day,  he  said  to  him,  '  Thee  has  had  thy 
revenge,  Minny,  and  the  Lord,  as  I  think,  will  one  day  give  me 
mine.'  Minny  let  no  opportunity  escape  of  offering  injury  and  insuh 
to  Moses  and  his  father.  This  revengeful,  wicked  temper  grew 
with  his  years.  And,  as  he  became  a  man,  the  ill  turns,  which  he 
rendered  this  worthy  family,  were  more  serious  in  their  consequences. 
His  riches  naturally  gained  him  followers,  who  flattered  him,  by 
taking  up  his  prejudices.  He  bought  an  adjoining  estate,  for  the 
avowed  purpose  of  getting  into  a  lawsuit  with  Moses,  about  boun 
dary  lines.  He  bought  an  hundred  things,  at  auctions,  which  he 
did  not  want,  for  no  other  reason  than  the  desire  of  disappointing 
Moses.  One  day  he  purposely  ran  foul  of  Moses'  wagon,  and 
performing  the  part  of  the  wolf,  in  the  fable,  he  began,  with  profane 
oaths,  to  accuse  Moses  as  the  aggressor ;  and,  at  length,  confiding 
in  his  peaceful  temper  and  principles,  he  seized  Moses  by  the  collar, 
and  began  to  lay  his  whip  over  his  shoulders.  Moses,  taking  hold 
of  his  arms,  held  him  with  great  ease ;  and,  as  he  still  struggled 
and  attempted  to  kick  and  bite,  he  said  to  him,  '  Aminadab  Mush 
room,  as  far  as  possible  I  have  desired  to  live  peaceably  with  thee. 
I  will  neither  strike  thee,  nor  will  I  bite  thee,  nor  despitefully  use 
thee,  for  it  is  forbidden  ;  but  I  will  bind  thee  to  keep  the  peace  ;' 
so  saying,  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  new  clothes-line,  which  he  had 
been  buying,  and  tied  him  -  to  a  tree,  with  an  adroitness,  which 
astonished  the  bystanders,  who  laughed  heartily  to  hear  Minny  rave 
and  scream,  that  he  "d  have  his  revenge.  Moses  repaired  to  a  magis 
trate,  who  despatched  a  constable  to  untie  Minny.  and  he  was  bound 
over  in  good  earnest  to  keep  the  peace.  During  the  process  of 
tying  him  to  the  tree,  Minny  called  loudly  and  confidently  for  aid, 
upon  two  or  three  of  his  associates,  who  only  stood  and  laughed  at 
him.  He  was  greatly  enraged  at  their  ingratitude,  for  which  he 
could  not  account.  Minny,  it  seems,  was  in  no  business,  but  entirely 
dependent  on  his  father  ;  who  was  himself  entirely  dependent,  and 
had  been  for  a  long  time,  upon  the  popular  delusion  in  regard  to  the 
bank.  The  bystanders,  who  had  seen  Minny  tied,  would  probably 
have  interposed  in  his  favor,  had  they  not  heard  a  report,  which  had 
not  reached  Minny's  ears,  respecting  his  father.  In  truth,  the  bank 
had  been  created  to  feed  the  factory  ;  and  the  factory  proved  too 
vo^a^ious  for  the  bank  to  supply  its  never-ceasing  demands.  They 
failed  together,  and  the  squire's  horse  proved  a  good  galloper,  and 
ran  away,  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him  ;  this  would  have  bees 
a  matter  of  little  consequence,  had  not  the  squire,  with  all  the  spare 
cash,  been  mounted  on  his  back.  Minny  came  down,  after  nis 


500  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

father,  as  a  bob  comes  down,  after  a  kite,  when  it  falls.  His  prop 
erty  was  stripped  from  him,  by  his  unrelenting  creditors,  by  piece 
meal,  much  in  the  same  manner,  in  which  it  is  taken  from  a  poor 
mariner's  back,  who  has  the  misfortune  to  be  cast  upon  the  shores 
of  merciless  barbarians.  Minny's  old  friends  and  companions  were 
among  the  first  and  the  most  furious.  They  took  his  farms,  and 
cattle,  and  wagons,  and  even  his  furniture.  Minny  had  now  liter 
ally  no  resource  upon  earth,  and  he  had  never  thought  of  any  in 
heaven.  He  had  neither  philosophy  nor  religion.  He  now,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  began  to  suspect  that  this  world  was  not  made 
for  Minny,  whatever  it  might  have  been  for  Caesar.  He  had  been 
married  more  than  four  years,  to  a  very  worthy  young  woman,  and 
they  had  three  as  pretty  children  as  any  in  Goosr berry.  Their 
mother  had  done  her  utmost  to  bring  them  up  in  the  fear  of  the 
Lord  ;  and,  to  do  Minny  justice,  he  had  the  greatest  respect  for  his 
wife.  She  was  mild  and  discreet ;  and  knew,  as  well  as  any  woman 
breathing,  how  to  put  in  her  good  words  in  season.  Whenever  he 
came  in,  with  a  tempest  on  his  brow,  she  contracted  her  sails  before 
its  fury,  like  the  little  nautilus.  And  when  he  swore  he  'd  have  his 
revenge,  she  said  not  a  word.  But  she  reasoned  with  him,  when 
he  was  calmer,  and  often  prevailed  with  him  to  relinquish  his  unjust 
and  violent  purposes.  She  had,  in  a  great  measure,  persuaded  him 
of  the  folly  and  injustice  of  cherishing  unchristian  feelings  to  the 
Meadows  family.  *  Only  think,'  said  she,  '  how  differently  they 
have  conducted  to  you,  Aminadab.  I  saw  Moses  Meadows,  with  my 
own  eyes,  pick  up  every  one  of  the  pears,  that  fell  from  our  tree  into 
his  lot,  and  lay  them  carefully  on  our  side.  And,  notwithstanding 
the  sad  turn  you  did  him  about  his  bees,  when  you  was  a  boy,  yet, 
when  yours  swarmed  on  his  trees,  he  hived  them,  and  put  them, 
hive  and  all,  over  on  our  side.  I  should  not  show  my  regard  for 
you,  Aminadab,  by  joining  in  your  talk,  against  so  worthy  a  man  as 
Moses  Meadows.'  '  Well,  wife,'  he  would  reply, '  you  've  preached 
a  good  sermon,  and  I  don't  doubt  you  're  half  right ;  but  let  ?s  have 
some  tea.' 

"  But  now  these  poor  people  were  stripped  of  all  their  posses 
sions,  and  reduced  to  great  distress.  Martha,  Aminadab's  wife,  bore 
it  with  great  fortitude ;  she  was  up,  early  and  late,  and  everybody 
saw  that  her  little  children  were  never  ragged,  thought  their  coats 
and  breeches  were,  like  Joseph's,  of  many  colors,  and  covered  with 
patches  As  for  little  Minny,  their  youngest  boy,  the  more  his 
clothes  were  like  those  of  a  little  merry  Andrew,  the  happier  he 
seemed  to  be ;  and,  one  day,  having  picked  up  a  piece  of  yellow 
cloth,  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  star,  before  the  door  of  Mr.  Cabbage 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  301 

the  tailor;  he  cried  a  full  hour, 'by  the  Gooseberry  clock,  because 
his  mother  refused  to  sew  it  on  his  breeches  behind.  The  children 
of  Moses  Meaduws  went  to  the  same  town-school  with  these  poor 
little  fellows.  One  day,  in  February,  there  came  a  terrible  thaw, 
and  while  Martha  was  wondering  how  the  little  things  could  get 
home,  she  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  saw  Moses  Meadows 
three  stout/boys,  each  with  one  of  her  children  '  a-pig-back.'  She 
begged  them  to  come  in,  and  rest  themselves,  upon  which  they 
cried  '  Nay,'  and  ran  home  again. 

"At  first,  Aminadab  bore  his  misfortunes  like  a  fool  and  an  infi 
del.  He  even  showed  some  disposition  to  drown  his  sorrows  in  the 
drunkard's  cup.  One  evening  he  came  home  late,  with  a  bottle  of 
ruin  under  his  coat ;  and  as  he  crept  slyly  into  the  house,  he  heard 
Martha  talking,  and,  peeping  through  the  crack  of  the  door,  he  per 
ceived  that  she  was  kneeling  beside  the  bed,  in  which  his  three 
children  were  sound  asleep  ;  he  saw  the  tears  run  down  her  cheeks, 
and  the  first  words  he  caught  were  these  :  '  Wherever  he  may  be, 
give  thy  angels  charge  over  him ;  deliver  him  from  evil  doers  ;  save 
him  from  destruction  ;  guard  him,  O  God,  from  that  sin,  which  most 
easily  besets  him.  Thou,  who  art  the  father  of  the  fatherless,  and 
the  widow's  God,  save  thy  handmaid  and  these  unhappy  babes  from 
misfortune,  greater  even  than  that  of  the  widow  and  the  orphan, 
who  have  followed  a  worthy  husband  and  father  to  the  grave  ;  save 
us,  Almighty  God,  from  domestic  disgrace.  Teach  my  poor  hus 
band  to  bow  to  thy  chastisement.  Spare  us,  O  Lord  ;  may  these 
poor  children  never  behold  a  drunkard  in  their  father.' — The  tears 
gushed  more  freely  from  her  eyes  ;  and  Aminadab,  who,  as  we  have 
said,  most  truly  loved  and  respected  his  wife,  rushed  out  of  the 
house,  and  taking  the  neck  of  the  bottle  in  both  hands,  he  broke  it 
on  the  horse-block,  with  the  greatest  violence,  at  the  same  moment 
crying  '  Amen,'  while  the  tears  filled  his  eyes.  He  then  returned 
into  the  house,  where  he  was  kindly  received  by  Martha.  Next 
morning,  to  her  great  surprise,  he  rose  unusually  early ;  and,  after 
an  hour's  absence,  he  returned,  and  told  her,  that  he  had  engaged 
himself  to  Mr.  Staple,  the  shopkeeper,  to  take  charge  of  his  store. 
She  could  scarcely  credit  the  intelligence.  It  was  even  so  ;  and  in 
a  week  he  entered  on  his  new  employment,  to  the  astonishment  of 
ail  Gooseberry.  The  clergyman  came  shortly  after  to  their  c(  ttage, 
and  Aminadab  frankly  related,  for  the  first  time,  to  his  wife  and 
Parson  Bell,  the  circumstances  we  have  described  ;  and  added, 
*  Your  prayers  are  the  longest,  Parson  Bell,  I  ever  heard,  but  our 
Martha's  prayer  I  never  shall  forget,  to  my  dying  day.' 

"  Shortly  after,  Gripe,  the  broker,  having  obtained  a  judgment 

VOL.  n.  26 


302  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

against  Aminadab,  took  out  his  execution,  and  committed  him  to 
prison.  This  produced  for  poor  Martha,  what  poverty  cou.ti  not. 
She  bore  all  else  ;  by  this  she  was  overthrown.  She  fell  sick  of  a 
fever.  When  Minny  came  to  school,  little  Moses  Meadows,  observ 
ing  that  he  cried  bitterly,  asked  him  the  reason  ;  and  learned  that 
his  father  was  in  jail,  and  his  mother  sick  in  bed.  Moses  told  his 
father  at  noon.  '  Does  thee  not  think,  father,'  said  little  Moses, 
*  that  broker  Gripe  lacketh  bowels?'  '  Yea,'  said  friend  Meadows, 
'  go  thee  out  and  saddle  the  gray  mare.  Neighbor  Mushroom  halh 
beon  tried  in  the  fire,  and  verily  I  thought  he  would  be  found  want 
ing.  But  h3  hath  been  steady,  from  the  second  to  this  tenth  month, 
in  friend  Staple's  store.  Verily  Mosy  is  right,  and  Gripe  lacketh 
bowels.'  He  got,  on  the  gray  mare,  and,  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he 
hitched  the  bridle  at  the  prison  gate.  '  Is  Aminadab  Mushroom  in 
thy  jail?'  said  he  to  Beeswax,  the  keeper  ;  and,  being  told  that  he 
was,  he  asked  for  the  amount  of  the  execution  ;  and  being  asked  by 
Beeswax,  if  he  thought  it  would  ever  be  paid,  '  Yea,'  he  replied, 
'  thee  shall  have  thy  money,  friend  Beeswax,  at  my  house,  when 
thee  pleasest.  Wilt  thee  trust  to  my  saying,  and  bring  forth  Amin 
adab?'  The  word  of  Meadows  was  better  than  many  bonds. 
Aminadab  could  scarcely  believe,  that  he  was  freed  by  Moses  Mead 
ows.  He  could  not  restrain  his  tears.  '  I  do  not  deserve  this  at 
your  hands,'  said  he.  '  Nay,'  replied  friend  Meadows,  '  thee  doest 
not,  on  old  scores.  But  thee  art  another  than  thee  wast.  Verily, 
the  grace  of  God,  as  I  think,  worketh  in  thee.  Friend  Aminadab, 
it  hath  pleased  Heaven  to  add  greatly  to  my  basket  and  my  store, 
beyond  my  deserts,  and  to  take  from  thee  the  little  that  thee  hadst. 
I  have  bought  thy  little  farm  back  for  thee;  it  is  thine  own.  Thy 
children  and  my  children  shall  grow  up  together,  and  brotherly  love 
shall  continue.'  'Ah,'  said  Aminadab,  '  now  I  understand  the 
meaning  of  your  words,  when  we  were  boys,  "Thee  has  had  thy 
revenge,  Minny,  and  the  Lord,  as  I  think,  will  one  day  give  me 
mine.'"  '  Yea,  verily,'  said  Moses,  and  they  walked  home  the 
very  best  friends  in  all  Gooseberry  " 

A  murmur  of  applause  arose  as  Mr.  Merlin  resumed  his  seat, 
slightly  interrupted  by  a  loud  whisper,  from  Mr.Killem,  the  tavern- 
keeper,  sufficiently  audible  to  the  occupants  of  the  nearest  pews , 
he  observed,  with  a  sneer,  that  the  story  might  be  well  enough 
for  Mr.  Merlin's  scholars  of  twelve  years  old;  and  Captain  Tar- 
box  replied,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  the  whole  congregation, 
thai,  perhaps,  we  might  be  favored,  before  we  separated,  with  a 
story  better  adapted  to  Mr.  Killem's  age  and  occupation.  "  Order, 
my  frie-nds,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Moose;  "I  believe  we  are  now 
entitled  to  a  story  from  Squire  Periwig." 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTER10WN.  303 

"I  don't  reckon,"  said  the  squire,  as  he  rose,  '/upon  being  very 
entertaining,  but  I  '11  do  the  best  I  can,  in  my  old-fashioned  way. 
I  've  lived  in  this  town,  man  and  boy,  seventy-three  years,  come  the 
seventeenth  day  of  next  June.  I  've  seen  lots  o'  drunkards,  in  this 
ere  village,  born,  bred,  and  buried  here,  right  in  the  midst  of  us; 
likely  young  men  too,  a  great  many  of 'em;  cut  down,  not  by  the 
hand  of  time,  but  by  this  awful  destroying  angel,  or  devil,  or  what 
ever  it  is  ;  this  rage  for  liquor.  I  've  seen  em  put  into  the  ground 
with  their  brown  hair,  and  every  tooth  in  their  heads  —  some  of  'em 
so  very  young,  that  they  were  never  shaved  in  their  lives,  unless  it 
was  by  the  men  they  got  the  rum  of.  I  've  seen  mothers,  and  wid- 
ders,  and  darters,  shed  more  tears  than  would  fill  all  the  empty  ruin 
hogsheads,  that  ever  came  full  into  Tattertown.  Neighbor  Killem 
could  tell  ye  ten  times  more  about  this  than  I  can."  —  "Pray, 
Squire  Periwig,"  cried  the  tavern-keeper,  jumping  up  in  a  passion, 
"  what  right  have  you  to  drag  me  before  this  meeting,  without 
my  consent1?"  —  "Bless  your  heart,  neighbor,"  said  the  squire, 
"  what 's  the  matter?  If  I  've  said  anything  out  of  the  way,  I  'm 
very  sorry  for  it.  You  and  I  have  been  neighbors  for  forty  years. 
You  know  well  enough,  neighbor,  that  I  am  a  tanner  ;  now,  if  you 
had  undertaken  to  tell  a  story  about  the  number  of  hides  that  have 
been  tanned  in  this  village,  for  a  certain  number  of  years,  and  had 
thought  proper  to  say  to  the  assembly,  that  Squire  Periwig  could  tell 
them  a  great  deal  more  about  the  matter  than  you  could,  I  don't 
think  it  would  have  put  me  in  a  passion.  If  I  had  ever  heard  you 
say,  that  you  was  ashamed  of  your  trade,  I  would  n't  have  hurt 
your  feelings,  neighbor,  for  the  world  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  I  've 
heard  you  say,  a  hundred  times,  that  it  was  a  highly  honorable  call 
ing,  and  quite  agreeable  to  Scripture.  I  've  heard  you  say,  that  the 
law  required  commissions  to  Justices  of  the  Peace  and  licenses  to 
rum-sellers,  to  be  given,  as  marks  of  distinction,  to  men  of  sober 
lives  and  conversations,  and  that  you  considered  your  profession  as 
honorable  as  any  in  the  village." 

There  was  something  so  perfectly  overwhelming,  in  this  unex 
pected,  and  possibly  unintended,  onset  of  Squire  Periwig,  that  the  con- 
gregati  >n  was,  for  one  or  two  minutes,  convulsed  with  laughter.  Mr. 
Killem  had  seized  his  hat,  and  half  risen  to  depart ;  but  his  better  half 
twitched  him  by  the  coat,  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear,  of 
which  nothing  but  the  words,  "  sovereign  contempt,"  and  "  beneath 
your  notice,"  was  heard  by  the  persons  occupying  the  pew  in  rear. 
He  threw  his  hat  upon  the  floor  of  the  pew,  and  folding  his  arms, 
looked  round  upon  the  assembly  with  a  countenance  full  of  indigna 
tion  and  wrath ;  a  ferocious  grin,  as  the  speaker  proceeded,  alter- 


304  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

nating  with  an  expression  as  "  black  as  midnight  without  moon  ^ 
tome  what  resembling  the  sudden  changes,  when  heat  lightning  is 
flashing  forth  amid  the  deep  gloom  of  an  autumnal  sky. 

The  heart  is  deceitful  above  measure.  Squire  Periwig  had  never 
been  accounted  among  the  most  ardent  friends  of  temperance,  until 
that  moment.  He  mistook  the  high  satisfaction  he  received,  from  a 
consciousness  of  having  been  able  to  produce  the  effect  he  had  just 
witnessed  in  the  assembly,  for  zeal  and  devotion  to  the  cause.  He 
saw  clearly,  that  he  had  mortally  offended  his  neighbor  Killem  ;  he 
knew  the  unforgiving  nature  of  his  disposition;  and  he  rightly  consid 
ered  it  a  legitimate  occasion  for  making  a  virtue  of  necessity.  The 
independent  condition  of  his  circumstances  placed  him  beyond  the 
reach  of  those  mischievous  appliances,  of  which  Mr.  Killem  knew 
well  enough  how  to  avail  himself,  against  those,  who  attempted 
to  thwart  his  wishes,  or  interfere  with  his  professional  operations. 

"  I  've  always  reckoned,"  continued  the  squire.  "  that,  when  rum 
got  into  a  family,  'twas  a  sort  o'  leprosy,  —  only  the  spots  were 
commonly  red. rather  than  white.  It's  amazing  catching;  wives 
catch  it  from  their  husbands  —  husbands  from  their  wives  —  chil 
dren  from  their  parents,  and  so  on.  I  was  very  much  struck  by 
Mr.  Merlin's  observation,  about  looking  back  to  the  remote  causes 
o'  drunkenness.  I  told  ye  I  was  born  the  seventeenth  o'  June ; 
it  like  to  have  been  the  death  on  me.  My  father  was  an  ensign, 
during  the  revolutionary  war.  He  was  at  the  battle  o'  Bunker's 
Hill.  He  had  his  flag-staff  shot  off  in  the  middle,  by  a  cannon-shot, 
and  he  kept  the  part  he  then  held  in  his  hand,  to  his  dying  day.  I 
never  saw  him  so  angry,  as  when  one  of  the  women  took  it  to  sup 
ply  the  place  of  the  churn-handle  that  got  broke.  Well,  next  to  the 
Lord's  day,  there  was  no  day  in  the  year,  with  him,  like  the  seven 
teenth  o'  June.  He  loved  to  talk  o'  nothing  so  much  as  o'  that  day, 
and  o'  the  battle.  I  've  been  axed,  a  hundred  times,  how  I  was 
connected  with  the  Bunker  family,  only  because  my  father  had  me 
christened  Bunker  Periwig,  in  honor  of  that  memorable  event.  A 
week  afore  the  anniversary,  and  a  week  arter,  every  year,  at  the 
least,  was  took  up  in  talking  about  the  battle.  The  first  dram  1 
ever  drank,  was  in  honor  o'  that  occasion.  I  was  n't  eight  years 
old.  To  make  it  go  down,  father  put  in  a  lump  o'  sugar.  I  soon 
got  to  like  it,  and  used -to  long  for  the  anniversary.  I  remember, 
one  time,  I  got  thoroughly  fuddled  ;  and,  as  it  was  at  another  time 
o'  the  year,  my  father  was  very  angry,  and  still  more  so,  when,  in 
answer  to  his  inquiry  how  I  dared  to  drink  up  his  gin,  and  make  a 
beast  o'  myself,  I  told  him  'twas  in  honor  o'  Bunker  Hill.  I  desire 
to  bless  the  Lord,  I  have  escaped  being  a  drunkard.  There  were  five 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  305 

men  then  living  in  Tattertown  —  every  one  of  'em  died  a  drunkard 

—  who  were  in  that  battle.     My  father  used  to  have  'em  all  at  his 
house,  on  the  seventeenth.     Every  one  of  these  men  was  perfectly 
sure  he  shot  Major  Pitcairn.     The  more  flip  they  drank,  the  nioio 
sure  they  got ;  and  the  mattei  was  n't  ilways  ended  without  a  fight 
Old  Loomis  made  my  father  very  angry,  one  time,  by  breaking  the 
end  of  the  old  flag-staff,  that  was  always  brought  out  on  them  days, 
and  laid  on  the  table,  over  Bob  Haggerty's  head.     I  dare  say  there 
are  some  here  now,  that  remember  Bob  Haggerty.     You  remember 
Haggerty,  neighbor  Killem,  don't  ye?"  —  "No,  I  don't,"  replied 
Mr.  Killem,   gruffly. — "How    you  talk!"   rejoined  the   squire; 
"  why,  I  '11  state  a  circumstance  that  '11  refresh  your  memory."  — 
"  Squire  Periwig,"  said  Mr.  Killem,  angrily,  "  you  've  insulted  me 

once  already,  in  this  meeting,  to-night,  and  I "  "  No  offence, 

neighbor,"  said  the  squire,  "  I  was  e'enamost  sure  you  must  remem 
ber  Haggerty.      You  remember  a  little  short  woman,  with  reddish 
hair,  that  went  crazy,  and  died  in  the  poor-house ;  she  's  been  dead 
about  twenty  years." —  "  No,  I  don't  remember  anything  about  your 
short  woman,"  growled  the  inn-holder.  —  "  Well,  that 's  amazing," 
said  the  squire  ;  '•  she  used  to  come  and  sit  on  your  steps,  and  beg 
you  not  to  sell  any  more  rum  to  her  husband  ;  and  when  you  drove 
her  off,  as  it  was  natural  enough  you  should  do,  —  for  I  used  to 
think  it  must  be  awful  unpleasant,  —  she  used  to  go  and  sit  on  the 
horse-block,  and  cry,  as  though  her  heart  would  break.     That  wo 
man,  that  you  don't  remember  nothing  about,  was  Haggerty's  wife." 

At  that  moment,  the  attention  of  all  present  was  called  to  a  wo 
man,  who  walked  rapidly  out  of  the  meeting-house,  with  her  head 
bowed  down  and  her  handkerchief  before  her  eyes.  "  Dear  me," 
said  the  squire,  as  he  looked  at  her  attentively,  "  I  'm  very  unlucky  ; 
if  I  'd  known  that  woman  was  here,  I  should  have  been  more  careful 
I  thought  she  was  settled  in  Hopville.  That  ?s  Haggerty's  darter , 
the  very  one  that  he  used,  when  she  was  a  child,  to  send  to  your 
bar,  neighbor  Killem,  for  rum." —  "  I  wish  to  know,  if  it  is  expected 
of  me,"  said  the  tavern-keeper,  "to  sit  here  quietly,  and  hear  all 
this  abuse?"  —  "Squire  Periwig,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Moose,  "I 
think  it  would  be  well  to  avoid  such  direct,  personal  remarks." 

—  "  Reverend  sir,"  replied  the  squire,  "I  only  wanted  to  refresh 
neighbor  Killem?s  memory."  —  "Well,  sir,"  rejoined  the  clergy 
man,  "  it  would  be  more  in  order,  I  conceive,  to  avoid  calling  any 
person,  who  is  here  present,  by  name ;  you  can  make  yourself  suffi 
ciently  intelligible,  without  a  personal  appeal."  —  "I  will  endeavoi 
to  do  so,"  replied  the  squire,  and  continued  as  follows  : 

"  I  have  told  you  how  near  I  came  10  being  a  drunkard,  in  honor 
VOL.  n.  26* 


306  TEMPERANCE   MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

af  the  seventeenth  o'  June.  I  forgot  to  say,  that,  arter  we  ha^ 
taken  quite  as  much,  in  honor  of  that  day,  as  the  occasion  seemed 
to  require,  my  father  always  made  what  he  called  a  tip-top  mug  o' 
toddy,  in  honor  o'  my  birth-day,  and  would  n't  let  us  leave  a  drop 
on  it.  'T  is  wonderful  from  how  small  and  remote  a  cause,  the 
habit  of  drunkenness  will  arise.  I  could  tell  a  great  many  stories, 
about  the  intemperance  o'  Tattertown  ;  but,  after  my  dreadful  bad 
luck  to-night,  I  'm  afeard  to  venture,  lest  I  should  give  offence.  1 
do  remember,  however,  the  history  of  one  family,  about  which  1 
believe  I  may  speak,  without  hurting  anybody's  feelings.  The  fam 
ily  's  dead  and  buried,  all  of  'em,  long  ago ;  and  I  'm  very  sartin 
there  's  no  kith  nor  kin  left  hereabouts.  I  s'pose  I  'm  in  order,  in 
telling  the  name,  as  they  've  all  been  in  their  graves  full  sixteen 
years.  I  refer  to  Millikin,  the  cooper,  his  wife  and  five  children." 
—  At  this  moment,  Mr.  Killem,  by  a  sudden  jerk  of  his  body,  and 
kick  of  his  boot,  sent  the  cricket  from  one  end  of  his  pew  to  the 
other,  with  such  violence  as  to  draw  all  eyes  in  that  direction.  A 
dead  stillness  ensued,  broken,  after  a  moment,  by  the  squire. 
"  I  'm  afear'd  I  'm  out  of  order  agin,  and  yet  I  don't  see  how,  for  1 
mentioned  no  name  but  that  of  Millikin,  who  isn't  here  to  be  hurt 
by  what  I  say,  though  he  used  to  be  here  pretty  constant,  as  one  of 
your  congregation,  Reverend  sir.  I  've  seen  him  here  in  this  house, 
with  his  wife  and  five  children,  and  healthier  and  happier  folks  never 
entered  these  doors.  They  used  to  sit  in  that  pew  ;  I  hardly  know 
how  to  describe  it,  for  it  is  n't  in  order  to  call  names, —  I  mean  the  pew 
where  the  gentleman  sits  who  kicked  the  cricket  over.  Millikin 
owned  that  very  pew,  and  paid  his  taxes  regularly  for  several  years." 

It  was  rather  cool  for  the  fifth  of  November,  but  Mrs.  Killem,  the 
landlady,  began  to  fan  herself  with  her  handkerchief,  and  the  per 
spiration  was  gathering  upon  the  innholder's  forehead. 

"  Nothing,  I  reckon,"  resumed  the  squire,  "  was  ever  more 
remote,  as  a  cause  of  intemperance,  than  the  thing,  which  actually 
produced  it,  in  this  family.  You  will  smile,  some  of  you,  perhaps, 
when  I  tell  you,  it  was  a  little  runlet,  not  three  inches  long.  The 
father  made  it,  for  the  amusement  of  his  youngest  boy,  Peter.  He 
fixed  a  string  to  it,  and  carried  it  about  his  neck.  One  day,  he  was 
playing,  in  front  of  the  tavern  door,  and  somebody,  —  I  a'n't  agoing 
to  get  out  of  order  agin,  by  calling  names, — beckoned  to  him  to  come 
in.  So  little  Peter  ran  in,  and  the  gentleman,  —  whose  name  I 
sha'n't  speak,  because  he  's  here  in  the  meet'n'us,  —  filled  his  little 
runlet  with  toddy.  It  afforded  great  amusement  to  a  number  of 
rery  philanthropic  people,  round  the  tavern  door,  to  see  Peter  strut 
about,  and  sip  his  toddy  from  the  runlet.  He  soon  became  fuddled, 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  30? 

gt)t  on  the  horse-Mock,  fell  asleep,  tumbled  off  and  broke  his  arm.' 
—  "  It 's  false,"  said  Mr.  Killem.  — "  So  it  is,"  said  the  squire, 
*'  'twas  his  leg.  I  came  along  past,  jest  about  then,  and  carried 
him  home,  in  my  wagon.  Little  Peter  told  his  brothers  how  they 
filled  his  runlet,  and  how  sweet  the  toddy  was.  They,  naturally 
enough,  teased  their  father,  till  he  made  runlets  for  'em  all.  These 
boys  carried  their  runlets  to  school ;  and,  when  they  were  let  out, 
they  ran  before  the  tavern  and  the  grocery,  till  some  kind,  consid 
erate  person  filled  their  runlets  with  toddy,  or  flip,  or  some  other 
intoxicating  liquor.  Before  this  time,  Millikin,  the  father,  was  as 
likely  and  as  industrious  a  man,  as  any  in  our  village.  Until  this 
period,  he  had  no  account,  at  the  tavern  or  the  grocery,  for  sperret. 
But,  soon  after  fixing  off  the  boys  with  runlets,  he  began  to  run  up 
a  bill  at  both  places,  for  rurn  and  gin,  but  much  the  most  at  the  tav 
ern.  When  little  Peter's  leg  got  well,  the  first  thing  almost  that 
he  did  was  to  rig  on  his  runlet,  arid  go  to  the  tavern.  The  man 
who  filled  his  runlet  the  first  time,  was,  very  naturally,  pleased  to 
find,  that  he  had  n't  been  the  cause  of  breaking  his  neck,  for  there 
had  been  considerable  talk  about  the  matter,  as  it  was.  He  felt, 
like  enough,  that  little  Peter  had  helped  him  to  inoculate  the  family, 
for  it 's  jest  like  the  small-pox,  jest  as  catching.  So  he  called  him 
in,  the  minute  he  saw  him,  and  filled  his  runlet  agin,  and  bid  him 
not  get  up  on  the  horse-block,  but  carry  it  home  to  his  mammy. 
So  off  Peter  trotted,  and  the  result  proved  how  well  he  executed 
his  commission.  When  the  father,  or  the  mother,  or  the  sisters 
took  a  suck  at  Peter's  runlet,  Billy,  and  Sammy,  and  Johnny,  and 
Bobby,  would  be  uneasy,  till  their  parents  and  sisters  had  taken  a  suck 
at  their  runlets.  I  remember  well,  Parson  Moose,  when  convers 
ing  with  you  about  poor  Millikin,  many  years  ago,  that  you  remarked 
on  the  pleasure  you  had  enjoyed,  that  morning,  when,  after  expos 
tulating  with  the  poor  man  upon  his  bad  habit,  you  returned  to  your 
study,  and,  upon  opening  the  window,  listened,  for  an  hour,  to  the 
music  of  his  cooper's  hammer.  But  it  was  all  over  with  the  Milli- 
kins.  I  reckon  there  are  some  constitutions,  that  go  very  quick, 
when  the  liquor  takes  hold.  The  Millikins  fell  off  amazing  quick 
indeed.  Their  little  property  soon  melted  away.  Them  five  run 
lets  was  like  five  vials  o'  wrath  poured  out  upon  their  heads.  They 
had  a  noble  cow,  but  she  did  n't  give  toddy,  so  they  sold  her  very 
soon.  The  father  became  an  idle,  miserable  wretch.  The  mother 
got  drunk,  fell  in  the  fire,  and  was  burnt  to  death.  Both  the  girls 
were  drunkards,  and  died  o'  consumption.  The  father  drowned 
himself.  Two  of  the  boys  died  in  the  poor-house,  one  was  killed 
in  a  fight.  How  the  fourth  died  I  don't  remember.  Peter 


308  TEMPERANCE  MEEHNG  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

the  longest.  Long  before  he  died,  he  got  him  a  larger  runlet ;  and, 
one  December  night,  he  got  drunk,  lay  out,  and  friz  to  death,  with 
the  runlet  hanging  round  his  neck.  So  they  all  died  ;  and  tho 
whole  cause  o'  the  destruction  o'  this  family  was  neither  more  nor 
less  than  that  are  little  runlet  not  more  than  three  inches  long. 
Bin  I  'm  e'enamost  ashamed  o'  myself,  for  taking  up  so  much  time, 
thai  might  be  better  employed  by  other  folks." 

The  squire  resumed  his  seat.  A  brief  silence  ensued,  during 
which,  many  eyes  were  directed  to  Mr.  Killem's  pew ;  and  the  :e 
was  a  pretty  general  expectation  that  he  would  rise,  in  reply  to  the 
last  speaker.  But,  in  this,  the  assembly  were  disappointed.  The 
tavern-keeper  seemed  to  be  of  an  opinion  that  his  strength  consisted 
in  sitting  still,  and  exhibiting  what  the  French,  when  speaking  of 
the  English,  are  pleased  to  call  the  grand  talent  for  silence. 

At  length,  the  attention  of  the  congregation  was  turned  to  Mr. 
Skillington,  the  oldest,  decidedly  the  honestest,  and  altogether  the 
poorest  of  five  members  of  the  legal  profession,  who  picked  up  a 
scanty  support,  out  of  the  necessities  and  distresses  of  Tattertown. 

"Rev.  sir,"  said  he,  "nothing  was  further  from  my  thoughts, 
when  I  came  here,  than  the  intention  of  addressing  this  assembly. 
But  the  remarks  of  Squire  Periwig  have  almost  raised  the  dead 
before  my  eyes.  If  I  were  a  Swedenborgian,  I  could  not  more 
powerfully  recall  from  their  resting-places  those,  who  have  long 
slept  in  their  silent  graves.  I  perfectly  remember  the  Millikins,  and 
those  five  boys,  and  their  five  runlets.  The  squire  has  told  you  the 
whole  story,  with  one  important  exception  —  he  has  said  nothing  of 
the  untiring  efforts  of  one  worthy  man  to  reclaim  the  members  of 
this  miserable  family  —  to  keep  them  from  sacrificing  the  wretched 
remnants  of  their  little  property  —  that  cow,  the  last  and  main  de 
pendence  of  these  poor  people  ;  how  well  I  remember  the  exertions 
of  that  worthy  man  to  save  that  cow  from  the  rum-seller's  grasp, 
but  the  rum-seller's  till  engulfed  it  all,  bone  and  muscle,  hoof  and 
horn,  hide  and  tallow.  I  cannot  forget  the  efforts  of  that  good  man, 
however  ineffectually  employed,  in  behalf  of  the  poor  cooper  and  his 
family.  Squire  Periwig  would  not  have  neglected  to  call  this  good 
Samaritan  by  name,  had  the  benevolent  individual  been  any  other 
person  than  himself. 

"  Mr.  Merlin  and  the  squire  have  adverted  to  some  of  the  remote 
causes  of  intemperance.  It  has  been  frequently  remarked,  that  we 
are  the  creatures  of  circumstances.  Our  occupations  and  pursuits, 
the  society,  to  which  we  are  accustomed,  have,  necessarily,  an  im 
portant  influence  upon  our  characters.  It  is  not  at  all  surprising, 
that  men,  who  meddle  with  edge  tools,  should  occasionally  cut  theii 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  309 

fingers.  There  is  notuing  to  excite  our  admiration  in  the  notorious 
Tact,  that  a  large  proportion  of  those,  who  are  engaged  in  the  manu 
facture  of  the  means  of  drunkenness,  and  the  traffic  therein,  should, 
sooner  or  later,  fall  into  habits  of  intemperance  themselves  ;  and, 
according  to  scriptural  prediction,  become  the  occupants  of  those 
very  pits,  which  they  have  prepared  for  the  rest  of  mankind.  We 
are  imitative  creatures.  The  force  of  example  may  be  expected  to 
operate  upon  the  wives  and  children  of  intemperate  men,  especially 
.is  the  vice  is  in  accordance  with  appetite  ;  and  so  rapidly  contagious 
is  this  terrible  distemper,  that,  in  a  family  of  half  a  dozen  members 
or  more,  it  is  sometimes  impossible,  after  a  few  short  years  of  indul 
gence,  to  say,  with  perfect  certainty,  who  was  the  original  file  leader 
among  this  miserable  band  of  inebriates. 

"  It  is  highly  probable,  that  a  considerable  number  of  those  inn- 
holders,  distillers,  and  retailers^  who  have  become  drunkards,  would 
have  been  temperate  men,  had  they  selected  different  occupations. 

"  Such  are  among  the  proximate  and  perfectly  intelligible  causes 
of  intemperance,  in  individuals,  and  in  families.  But  it  is  occasion 
ally  in  our  power  to  trace  this  destructive  habit  to  some  particular 
cause,  so  remote,  and  so  apparently  inadequate  for  the  production 
of  such  terrible  results,  that  nothing,  short  of  an  attentive  exami 
nation  of  the  whole  chain,  throughout  its  entire  extent,  will  satisfy 
our  minds  that  the  last  link  is  really  connected  with  the  first. 

"  If  a  doubt  exist  in  the  mind  of  any  one,  that  parents  should  be 
exceedingly  careful  in  the  selection  of  those  toys,  which  they  put 
into  the  hands  of  their  children,  let  him  reflect  upon  the  simple  nar 
rative  you  have  heard  this  evening,  of  Peter  Millikin's  runlet. 

"  Domestic  distress  has  very  frequently  introduced  the  demon  of 
intemperance  into  those  families,  where  as  much  of  happiness,  as  ia 
well  for  us,  in  this  state  of  trial,  had  existed  for  many  years.  The 
poor,  half-distracted  father,  goaded  by  misfortune,  has  fallen  down 
before  that  false  god,  the  rum-jug,  and  worshipped  with  his  lips ; 
and,  alas!  the  wife  —  the  children  have  followed  the  miserable  ex 
ample.  The  intemperance  of  vanity  —  the  intemperance  of  display 
—  of  luxury  —  the  pride  of  life  —  have  frequently  proved  the  insidi 
ous  precursors  of  the  intemperance  of  alcohol. 

"  There  is,  as  has  often  been  said,  a  common  bond  among  the 
sciences  —  such  assuredly  exists  among  the  crimes  and  the  follies 
of  mankind.  They  are  strangely  related  to  one  another,  and  a  faith 
ful  narrative  of  the  original  causes  —  the  remote  influences,  which 
have  conducted  mankind  to  misery  and  madness,  through  the  ave 
nues  of  crime,  would  not  unfrequently  be  interesting,  in  the  highest 
degree,  to  the  philosopher  and  the  Christian.  In  many  cases,  cause 


310  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOATN. 

and  effect  are  too  closely  and  too  clearly  allied,  to  be  misapprehended 
for  a  moment.  But  there  are  examples,  not  a  few,  in  which  it  is 
scarcely  to  be  believed,  that  causes,  so  extremely  remote,  so  appa 
rently  trivial,  should  have  indeed  sufficed  for  the  destruction  of  the 
bodies  and  the  souls  of  men ;  and  by  a  process,  which,  at  first,  seemed 
not  particularly  calculated  for  the  production  of  such  terrible  results. 

"  Archibald  Lane  was  a  very  clever  fellow,  and  his  pretty  yo*mg 
wife  was  as  clever  as  he.  He  was  a  shopkeeper  in  the  city,  and 
then  recently  established  in  business.  She  was  very  worthily  con 
nected  in  a  neighboring  village,  and  the  most  delightful  chorister  in 
the  parish.  One  Sabbath  in  June,  —  even  Burns  would  have  called 
it '  a  bonnie  day,'  —  Mr.  Lane  visited  his  cousin  in  Cricketville,  and 
was  so  enraptured  with  the  tones  of  the  chief  female  singer,  that, 
I  'm  grieved  to  admit,  upon  his  return  to  the  city,  he  could  give  no 
account  of  the  sermon,  whatever  ;  and  had  even  forgotten  the 
preacher's  name.  When  the  last  hymn  had  been  sung,  the  little 
green  curtain  was  drawn  aside,  in  front  of  the  chorister's  seat,  and 
Peggy  Picket  looked  forth  upon  the  congregation.  She  had  been 
requested,  as  all  singers  are,  on  similar  occasions,  to  sing  the  hymn 
for  the  glory  of  God  ;  and  we  trust,  and  confidently  too,  she  had 
done  so,  for  she  was  truly  an  excellent  girl ;  but  she  looked,  at  the 
time,  as  if  she  thought  the  hymn  had  been  pretty  well  sung.  Her 
eyes  launched  downward  directly  upon  Archibald  Lane,  and  so  im 
mediately,  that,  if  the  thing  had  not  been  utterly  impossible,  it  might 
have  been  supposed,  that  his  cousin  had  informed  Miss  Picket,  that 
Mr.  Lane  would  take  his  seat  in  their  pew.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it 
was  all  over  with  poor  Archy.  Let  us  compress  this  part  of  our 
narrative  into  the  narrow  compass  of  a  nutshell,  and  say  as  little  as 
possible  of  their  introduction,  and  of  all  the  delicate  things  that  were 
thought  and  said  between  the  parties,  and  the  delicate  things  which 
were  sent  from  Mr.  Lane's  store  for  Miss  Picket,  a-nd  the  delicate 
messages  in  return,  which  passed  from  Miss  Picket  to  Mr.  Lane. 
The  parents  of  Miss  Picket  were  prevailed  on  to  give  their  consent, 
and  the  five  remaining  Miss  Pickets  were  immefiiately  put  under 
the  instruction  of  Mr.  Jeduthun  Kidder,  instructor  in  psalmody. 

"  Archibald  and  Peggy  were  married.  They  commenced  their 
joint  career  in  a  small  tenement,  of  modest  pretensions,  and  furnished 
it  in  a  style  of  moderation  and  economy,  which  was  duly  propor 
tioned  to  their  humble  finances,  and  augured  favorably  for  their 
future  prosperity  and  peace. 

"  Their  happiness,  for  a  few  weeks,  was  observed  by  all ;  it  was 
an  object  of  interest  and  pleasure  to  well-disposed  people ;  and  to 
unmarried  ladies  of  no  particular  age,  seemed  perfectly  ridiculous. 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  311 

This  happy  couple  appeared,  like  the  French  Republic,  '  one  and 
indivisible.' 

"  They  might,  for  all  I  know  to  the  contrary,  have  continued 
progressing  in  happiness  to  the  present  hour,  had  not  Colonel  Saul 
Picket  returned,  after  having  accumulated  property  in  South  India, 
and,  designing  to  do  the  handsome  thing,  presented  his  niece  with  a 
sj^endid  silver  pitcher.  —  Alas !  it  became  the  nest  egg  of  destruc 
tion  —  the  very  apple  of  discord  between  this  simple  pair.  Had 
Colonel  Saul  imported  the  plague,  and  introduced  it  into  their  peace 
ful  habitation,  he  scarcely  could  have  perpetrated  a  greater  injury 
upon  its  unoffending  inmates. 

"  Utterly  unable  to  enjoy,  alone,  the  delight  produced  by  this 
unexpected  blessing,  Peggy  immediately  despatched  a  messenger  to 
request  Mr.  Lane  to  return  home,  as  soon  as  possible.  When  the 
messenger  arrived,  Mr.  Lane  was  engaged  in  the  difficult  task  of 
suiting  Madam  Bumble  with  a  particular  shade  of  gros  de  Naples, 
and  was,  at  that  moment,  taking  down  the  nineteenth  parcel  from 
an  upper  shelf.  The  ragged  boy,  who  brought  the  message,  and 
delivered  it  in  haste,  was  off  before  any  explanation  could  be  asked 
of  him.  Mr.  Picket  was  fully  impressed  with  the  idea,  that  his 
wife  was  suddenly  taken  ill.  'Bless  me!'  said  he;  and  leaping 
suddenly  down  from  the  high  steps,  upon  which  he  was  mounted, 
the  solid  parcel  of  silk  slipped  from  his  hand,  and,  falling  directly 
upon  the  old  lady's  bonnet,  broke  in  the  front  part  of  it,  and  so 
highly  offended  Mrs.  Bumble,  that  she  never  visited  his  shop  after 
that  eventful  day.  Mr.  Lane  hastened  home,  as  fast 'as  possible  ; 
and,  as  he  entered,  almost  breathless,  at  the  door,  his  wife,  her 
countenance  beaming  with  delight,  met  him,  holding  aloft  the  silver 
pitcher  in  both  her  hands,  and  exclaiming,  'There,  Archy,  there! 
see  what  uncle  Saul  has  sent  me  ;  isn't  it  beautiful  1' 

"  '  Dear  me,'  he  exclaimed,  as  he  sunk  into  a  chair,  '  is  that  all?' 

"  '  Why,  husband,'  she  replied,  '  I  'm  sure  it 's  a  very  handsome 
present ;  and  you  must  allow  that  uncle  Saul  has  done  the  genteel 
thing,  my  dear.' 

"  '  Oh,  yes — to  be  sure  —  certainly,'  exclaimed  Mr.  Lane  ;  '  but 
you  have  no  idea  how  much  you  alarmed  me,  by  the  suddenness  of 
your  message  —  truly  it  is  very  —  very  elegant ;  where  will  you 
place  it,  my  love  —  over  the  fireplace?' 

"  '  Why  Archy  !  certainly  not  —  on  the  sideboard,  to  be  sure.' 

"  '  How  it  will  look  !  — that  splendid  silver  pitcher  on  that  little 
second-hand  sideboard.  I  don't  know,  however;  you  would  put  a 
mat  underneath,  and  that  would  serve  to  cover  the  old  crack  in  the 
centre.  But  are  you  sure  it  is  solid  silver,  my  dear?'  said  he, 
knocking  the  pitcher  with  hie  kuuciJkw. 


512  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

"  '  Why,  Archibald  !  how  you  talk.  Do  you  think  uncle  Saul  IB 
so  mean,  that  h«  would  send  me  a  pewter  one1?' 

"  '  Yes,  you  're  right,  it 's  silver,  my  dear,  I  see  by  the  stamp. 
Well,  it  is  very  handsome  —  yes  —  it  is  very  —  very,' 

"'Isn't  it!'  exclaimed  the  delighted  proprietress,  turning  it 
round  in  every  direction. 

"  Mr.  Lane  hastened  back  to  his  shop,  and  his  little  wife  con 
tinued,  for  more  than  an  hour,  perambulating  her  apartment,  and 
surveying  her  charming  acquisition,  in  every  point  of  view. 

"  The  wisdom  of  Franklin,  and  his  penetration  into  the  character 
of  man  were  never  more  forcibly  exhibited,  than  when  he  observed, 
that  we  are  ruined  by  the  eyes  of  others,  and  not  by  our  own ;  for, 
if  there  were  none,  besides  our  own,  to  regard  our  possessions,  our 
furniture  and  equipages  would  be  commonly  far  less  showy  and 
expensive  than  they  are. 

"  Mrs.  Lane  had  not  enjoyed  this  peculiar  blessing  for  two  short 
hours,  before  she  became  impatient  to  exhibit  it  to  others.  It  was 
not  long  before  she  was  gratified,  by  the  arrival  of  one  of  her  neigh 
bors,  Mrs.  Freetattle,  who  made  herself  exceedingly  agreeable,  by 
talking  of  nothing  but  the  silver  pitcher.  She  thought  it  the  most 
beautiful  thing  she  had  ever  beheld  —  decidedly  so.  She  had  seen 
a  very  handsome  one  at  Colonel  Rideup's,  very  beautiful  to  be  sure, 
but  really  it  was  very  inferior  to  this,  in  size,  and  the  taste  of  its 
workmanship.  '  What  a  fine  thing  it  is,  my  dear  Mrs.  Lane,'  said 
she,  *  to  have  a  rich  uncle  Saul !  And  what  a  fine  thing  it  would  be 
if  he  would  make  you  a  handsome  present  of  a  decent-looking  side 
board,  to  set  that  elegant  pitcher  upon  !  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear, 
[  did  not  mean  to  disparage  your  furniture ;  your  little  sideboard 
was  very  neat,  when  it  was  first  made,  no  doubt;  but  it 's  cracked, 
you  know,  and  I  think  the  turpentine  and  beeswax  always  show 
very  plainly,  when  the  veneering  is  peeling  off.  It 's  well  enough 
to  begin  with  ;  but  now  you  've  got  that  splendid  pitcher  —  bless  me 
—  you  never  could  think  of  retaining  such  a  sideboard  as  that. 
Everybody  says  Mr.  Lane  is  doing  a  great  business.  I  'm  thinking, 
my  dear,  you  11  soon  have  another  article  in  the  place  of  that.' 

"  Mrs.  Lane  had  already  begun  to  think  so  too;  for,  although  the 
color  slightly  tinged  her  countenance,  when  Mrs.  Freetattle  first 
adverted  to  the  appearance  of  her  little  sideboard,  recollecting, 
humble  as  it  was,  that  her  stock  of  furniture  had  drawn  from  her 
father's  pocket  all  he  could  possibly  afford,  yet  she  felt  the  perfect 
justice  of  that  sagacious  lady's  observations.  Every  alternate 
glance,  which,  from  time  to  time,  she  directed  to  the  pitcher  and  the 
sideboard,  served  to  confirm  her  impression  of  their  utter  incongruity. 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTEItTOWN.  313 

*TTpon  her  husband's  return,  at  the  dinner  hour,  Mrs.  Lane 
eoir.rn animated  the  opinion  of  Mrs.  Freetattle,  respecting  the  side 
board.  —  *  V/eli,  Peggy,'  said  he,  'Mrs.  Freetattle  is  perfectly 
right.  That  splendid  pitcher,  upon  that  little,  second-hand  side- 
b^ara,  certainly  resembles  a  first-rate  French  cape,  over  a  half-worn 
nhv>p:,nny  calico.  Suppose,  my  love,  you  lock  the  pitcher  up, 
until  some  fuixre  day,  when  we  can  afford,  as  perhaps  we  may,  a 
change  for  the  better,  in  our  whole  establishment.  My  business  is 
so  good,  at  present,  that  I  should  not  be  surprised,  if,  in  a  few  years, 
we  might  be  able  to  take  a  house  in  Dashaway  court  or  Pepper 
mint  square.  In  the  mean  time,  you  can  exhibit  the  pitcher  you 
know,  to  any  of  your  friends,  who  may  drop  in  upon  you.' 

"  *  Dear  Archy,'  said  his  pretty  little  wife,  '  I  'm  sure,  uncle  Sau" 
would  be  hurt,  if  we  locked  up  the  pitcher.  Besides,  how  vulgar 
it  would  look  for  me  to  run,  every  time  any  visitor  dropped  in,  and 
get  the  key,  and  unlock  the  door,  and  lag  out  the  pitcher.  — Mrs. 
Jfreetattle  told  me  a  great  deal  of  news,  this  morning.  She  says 
Jerry  Bustler,  that  married  Priscilla  Millet,  of  Cricketville,  has  taken 
one  of  the  new  houses  in  Peppermint  square,  and  furnished  it  ele 
gantly.  I  never  was  more  astonished.  What  would  my  father 
say,  — he  a  town  clerk,  and  Priscy's  father  nothing  but  a  butcher ! 
Priscy  Millet  in  Peppermint  square !  ha,  ha,  ha !' 

"There  was  an  expression  of  bitterness,  accompanying  this 
exclamation,  which  Mr.  Lane  had  never  before  witnessed  on  the 
countenance  of  his  wife.  What  a  wicked  little  aristocrat  she  is ! 
thought  he. 

"  '  My  dear  Peggy,'  sa;d  Mr.  Lane,  after  a  short  pause,  '  it  is  no 
difficult  thing  to  take  a  house  in  Peppermint  square,  and  to  furnish 
it  very  handsomely  ;  the  difficulty  consists  in  keeping  it.  There  is 
no  difficulty  in  shaking  off  one's  old  acquaintances  of  a  humbler 
grade,  — rather  trying  to  the  feelings  occasionally,  to  be  sure,  —  and 
in  riding  up  into  a  higher  circle.  There  is  no  great  difficulty,  if  one 
has  money  enough,  in  choosing  one's  society.  There  is  one  trou 
blesome  fellow,  however,  a  privileged  character,  who  will  iMruie 
just  where  he  pleases ;  and  a  very  disagreeable  fellow  he  is. '  — 
And  pray,  Archy,  who  is  he?'  —  '  The  sheriff,  my  dear,'  said  Mr. 
Lane.  *  Jerry  Bustler,  if  I  do  not  greatly  miscalculate,  has  made 
a  sad  mistake.  He  is  a  very  forward  fellow,  thrusting  himself 
somehow  or  other,  into  the  foremost  rank,  upon  every  occasion. 
He  has  very  little  weight  of  character,  and  but  ordinary  talent,  yet 
he  is  so  exceedingly  solicitous  of  thrusting  his  insignificant  name 
before  the  public,  upon  every  occasion,  that,  by  a  sort  of  common 
consent,  this  officious  little  fellow  is  permitted  to  do  it  ex-qfficio. 

VOL.  ii  27 


314  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTCTWN. 

He  is  so  apparently  unconscious  of  any  difference  between  la.nsclf 
and  men  of  real  eminence,  that  he  actually  has  caused  a  bust  to  be 
taken  of  himself;  and,  not  long  ago,  while  looking  in  upon  an 
exhibition  of  statuary,  I  saw  the  fine  heads  of  Daniel  Webster  and 
Judge  Story,  and  actually,  between  the  twos  the  head  uiiJ  she  alters 
of  little  Jerry  Bustler,  like  a  magpie  perched  between  two  great 
bald  eagles.  Jerry  is  cunning  enough  to  know  that  his  house  aM 
furniture  are  very  good  travelling  tickets  on  the  highxvay  to  distinc 
tion.  I  well  remember  the  time  when  Jerry,  as  hundreds  iiave 
done  before  him,  came  into  the  city.  I  have  seen  him  walking  the 
streets  in  his  country  clothes  and  hob-nail  shoes,  with  a  great  silver 
brooch  in  his  shirt-bosom,  as  big  as  the  top  of  your  mustard-pot, 
eating  away  at  a  sheet  of  gingerbread,  and  spelling  the  signs.  Now 
he  is  one  of  the  most  finisned  dandies  we  have  ;  and  Priscy,  —  for 
country  girls,  when  they  get  into  the  city,  are  more  apt  to  go  to  iJI 
fashionable  extremes,  than  such  as  have  lived  there  all  their  day  8, 
—  Priscy  dresses  to  the  very  extent  of  the  mode.'  — '  I  hope,  dear,' 
said  Mrs.  Lane,  '  you  don't  think  me  extravagant.'  —  'Not  at  all, 
my  love,  not  at  all,'  replied  her  husband.  '  I  was  going  to  remark, 
that  these  new  comers  struggle  for  distinction,  as  earnestly,  as 
though  it  were  the  chief  end  of  man.  If  they  miss  their  aim,  lose 
their  property,  are  compelled  to  give  up  their  houses,  furniture,  and 
equipage,  and  become  bankrupts,  they  are  easily  converted  into 
admirable  democrats  —  agrarians  —  sans-culottes.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  are  able  to  maintain  their  ground,  by  the  power  of 
wealth,  they  become  very  tolerable  aristocrats.  The  old  elite, 
firmly  established  upon  their  ottomans,  for  a  long  time,  contemplate 
the  approaches  of  these  aspirants,  with  repulsive  looks ;  and,  like 
the  waters  of  the  Rhone  and  the  Arve,  though  moving  side  by  side, 
refuse  to  mingle.  After  a  few  years,  however,  the  wealth  of  these 
successful  adventurers  proves  too  irresistible  for  the  necessities  of 
the  other  party;  their  sons  and  daughters  form  alliances;  and,  in 
their  turn,  look  down  upon  hundreds,  who  are  attempting  to  ascend 
those  summits,  which  they  have  successfully  attained.' 

"  '  Dear  Archy,'  cried  Mrs  Lane,  taking  her  husband's  hand, 
'  you  talk  like  a  book,  and  I  love  to  hear  you,  I  'm  sure  I  do  ;  but. 
Archy,  dear,  What  do  you  think  Mr.  Veneer,  the  cabinet-maker, 
would  allow,  for  our  little  sideboard,  if  we  took  one  of  his?' 

"'Ah,  my  dear,'  said  Mr.  Lane,  'your  heart,  I  see,  is  fixed 
upon  that  sideboard,  and  you  shall  have  it,  for  I  can  refuse  you 
nothing.'  —  'Not,  if  you  think  it  extravagant,  Archy,'  said  his 
wife,  looking  up  into  his  face  with  an  expression,  half  grave  and 
half  jocose,  which  rendered  her  countenance  more  beautiful  than 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  315 

before.  —  'Well,  well,  my  dear,'  cried  her  husband,  '1  have  been 
pretty  successful  of  late,  and  will  try  to  afford  it,  and  economize  in 
other  matters.' 

"  The  very  high  price,  which  Veneer  asked  for  the  sideboard, 
selected  by  Mrs.  Lane,  and  the  very  small  amount  which  he  con 
sented  to  allow  for  the  old  one,  for  a  time  caused  her  to  hesitate. 
Veneer's  manner  of  standing  off,  and,  with  a  half-hidden  sneer, 
eying  the  article,  which  was  offered  as  part  payment,  in  exchange, 
was  so  very  provoking,  that  Mrs.  Lane,  who  remembered  it  was  the 
best  her  poor,  old  father  could  afford,  was  half  inclined  to  break  off 
the  negotiation  in  a  huff.  But  Veneer  knew  well  enough  the  ground 
he  trod  on.  'Entirely  out  of  date,  ma'am,'  said  he,  'them  swell 
fronts  ;  don't  think  I  could  sell  it  at  any  price  ;  should  have  to  send 
it  to  auction ;  could  n't  have  it  in  my  show-room ;  my  custom  is 
such,  that  it  would  do  me  an  injury,  unless  I  told  how  I  got  it.' 
Then  he  walked  up,  and,  without,  comment,  raised  the  wood  with 
his  fingers,  that  had  begun  to  peel  off,  and  pointed  to  the  crack  on 
the  top.  Before  he  had  fairly  gotten  through  this  process  of  dispar 
agement,  so  well  understood  by  every  accomplished  master  crafts 
man,  Mrs.  Lane  had  become  thoroughly  disgusted  with  the  article 
herself,  and  wondered  how  she  had  tolerated  it  so  long.  If  any 
doubt  still  remained,  as  to  the  entire  propriety  of  an  exchange,  that 
doubt  was  effectually  removed,  by  one  brief  observation  of  Veneer's. 
'  The  article  you  talk  of,  ma'am,'  said  he,  '  is  a  good  deal  higher 
finished  than  one  we  sold,  last  week,  to  a  lady  in  Peppermint 
square.'  —  'What  was  her  name,  Mr.  Veneer?'  —  'Mrs.  Bustler, 
ma'am.'  — '  Really  —  indeed  —  well,  Mr.  Veneer,  I  think  I  '11  take 
it.  Perhaps,  however,  you  had  better  see  Mr.  Lane  first.'  —  'He 
was  at  the  shop,  this  morning,  ma'am,  and  said  he  should  be  satis 
fied  with  any  that  you  chose  to  select.'  — '  Well,  then  I  '11  take  it. 
When  will  you  take  this  little,  old  thing  away,  and  send  the  new 
one?'  —  'We  can  do  it  this  morning,  if  you  wish,  ma'am,'  said 
Veneer.  — '  Very  well,'  said  Mrs.  Lane,  and  summoned  the  girl  — 
they  kept  but  one  at  that  time  —  to  assist  in  removing  the  articles 
from  the  old  sideboard,  and  preparing  it  for  removal. 

"  It  has  been  said,  that,  in  London,  a  mob,  so  considerable,  as 
to  require  the  aid  of  the  police  for  its  dispersion,  has  been  gathered 
upon  a  wager,  by  two  men,  standing  motionless  in  the  street,  and 
holding,  between  them,  for  an  indefinite  time,  a  small  string,  a  few 
yards  in  length.  It  is  often  a  matter  of  astonishment  how  trifling 
an  affair  will  summon  a  congregation  of  idlers  in  our  great  thor 
oughfares.  When  Mr.  Lane  returned  from  his  place  of  business, 
at  the  usual  hour,  he  was  not  a  little  surprised,  at  the  appearance 


316  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

of  a  dense  collection  of  men  and  boys,  in  front  of  his  residence.  He 
soon  perceived,  that  one  entire  window-frame  of  his  front  parlor  had 
been  removed,  and  instantly  concluded  that  his  house  had  been  on 
fire.  The  very  natural  feeling  of  alarm,  with  which  he  forced  his 
way  through  the  crowd,  was  immediately  relieved,  upon  his  arrival. 
It  had  been  found  impossible  to  introduce  the  new  sideboard  through 
the  small  entry  of  nis  dwelling,  and  Veneer  had  therefore  taken  out 
one  of  the  parlor  windows.  The  operation  had  just  been  success 
fully  accomplished.  '  Very  handsome,  my  dear,'  said  Mrs.  Lane. 
*  It  certainly  is  very  handsome,'  replied  her  husband  ;  '  but  hud  yon 
any  idea  it  would  look  so  very  large  ?'  —  '  It  does  seem  larger  here, 
my  dear,'  said  she,  '  a  great  deal  larger,  than  I  had  any  idea  it 
would.  It  did  not  seem  half  as  large  in  your  show-room,  Mr. 
Veneer.'  —  '  That  is  owing  to  the  size  of  your  parlor,  madam,'  he 
replied  :  '  your  room  's  uncommon  small.'  Mrs.  Lane  had  stepped 
aside,  and  soon  returning  with  the  silver  pitcher,  placed  it  on  the  side 
board.  '  That 's  very  rich,'  said  Veneer ;  '  it  really  seems  as  though 
the  sideboard  and  the  pitcher  were  made  for  each  other  ;  but  these 
chairs  don't  seem  the  thing  exactly,  d'  ye  think  they  do,  madam?' 
— '  Well,  well,  my  dear,'  said  Mr.  Lane, '  let 's  have  dinner.  We  've 
done  enough  for  one  day,  Mr.  Veneer.  I  ?m  afraid  you  '11  ruin  us 
all.'  —  'Ha,  ha,  ha!'  laughed  Mr.  Veneer,  as  he  proceeded  to 
replace  the  window  ;  '  there  's  no  great  danger  of  ruining  you,  sir, 
I  guess,  such  a  business  as  you  're  driving.  I  never  see  so  many 
folks  in  any  shop  in  my  life,  as  I  see  in  yours,  through  them  great 
plate-glass  windows,  bigger  than  two  of  that  door.  Did  you  see 
them  French  damask  bottoms,  ma'am,  when  you  was  at  my  place?' 
—  *  I  don't  think  I  did,'  replied  Mrs.  Lane.  — '  Do  call  and  look  at 
'em,  ma'am ;  you  no  need  to  buy,  if  you  don't  choose  to.'  — '  Well, 
perhaps  I  will.' 

"  '  I  'm  sorry,  my  dear,'  said  Mr.  Lane,  when  Veneer  had  gone, 
'that  you  gave  him  any  encouragement  about  the  chairs.'  —  'I 
didn't  know  what  to  say,  Archy  :  I  did  not  promise  to  come,'  she 
replied. 

"  During  their  simple  meal,  Mrs.  Lane  turned  her  bead  full  twenty 
times  to  contemplate  her  new  acquisition.  Her  husband  was  more 
silent  than  usual.  After  his  customary  glass  of  wine,  he  grew 
somewhat  more  cheerful.  Mr.  Lane  had,  for  several  years,  been  a 
member  of  the  temperance  society,  and  he  was  strictly  observant 
of  his  pledge,  which,  however,  comprehended  only  the  circle  of 
distilled  spirits. 

"  '  You  don't  say  anything  about  the  sideboard,  Archy,'  said  Mrs 
Lane,  as  she  diew  her  chair  near  his,  and  affectionately  took  his 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  317 

hand. — '  Peggy,  my  dear,'  he  replied,  '  it 's  exceedingly  beautifu^ 
but  altogether  too  large  for  our  apartment,  it  seems  to  me,  and 
inconsistent  with  our  other  furniture ;  but  it 's  too  late  now  to  talk 
about  that.  And,  if  it  gives  you  pleasure,  I  have  nothing  to  say, 
excepting  that  1  am  very  glad  you  are  pleased  ;  and  now,  dear,  I 
must  run  after  my  business,  or  it  will  run  away  from  me.' 

"  Mrs.  Lane,  for  some  time  after  her  husband's  departure,  contin 
ued  to  pace  the  little  apartment,  so  much  of  it,  at  least,  as  remained 
unoccupied  by  the  sideboard  ;  stopping  at  short  intervals  to  admire 
its  proportions,  and  occasionally  shifting  the  position  of  the  silvei 
pitcher,  or,  with  her  handkerchief,  removing  some  slight  finger 
mark  from  its  highly  polished  surface.  She  was  remarkably  social 
in  her  feelings ;  and,  growing  weary,  at  last,  of  worshipping  in 
silence  and  alone,  she  summoned  in  Mary  McGuire,  her  Irish 
domestic.  'There,  Mary,'  said  she,  'look  there.'  — '  Och,  my 
leddy,'  cried  Mary,  clapping  her  hands  with  unaffected  delight, 
'  is  n't  that  a  nate  consarn  !  That  swaat  silver  cinser  i'  the  middle  ; 
and  ye  '11  be  after  gitting  two  silver  candlesticks  to  pit  up  on  the 
two  ends,  wi'  wax  tapers,  to  be  sure  ;  and  thin  it  '11  not  be  i'  the 
like  o'  me  to  say  it  doesn't  look  jest  like  the  great  altar  in  the  ca- 
thadral  in  Dublin,  my  leddy.  Och,  if  your  leddyship  wud  consint 
to  gi'  me  laave  jist  to  ax  father  O'Schiverick  to  paap  in  some  dee, 
when  it 's  all  fixed,  and  gi'  it  a  leetle  consecration.  Maybe  he  'd 
not  refuse  to  sprinkle  it  wi'  holy  water,  my  leddy.' — Mrs.  Lane 
could  not  forbear  laughing  at  the  poor  girl's  erroneous  impressions, 
and  explained  to  her,  that,  however  different  in  size  and  form,  it 
was  intended  for  the  same  offices  as  its  predecessor.  '  Indaad,  my 
leddy,'  said  Mary,  '  wall,  and  it 's  right  convanient  ony  how.  It 's 
varnished,  ye  see,  and  it  '11  not  be  nading  ony  rubbing,  and  thin  it 
covers  so  much  o'  the  carpit,  that  it  '11  be  a  daal  less  swaaping 
we'll  have  to  do.' 

"  The  rude  conceptions  of  the  poor  girl,  in  connection  with  Mr. 
Lane's  suggestions,  had  left  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  her  mis 
tress,  that  the  article,  some  how  or  other,  was  not  altogether  in  good 
keeping  with  their  establishment.  This  impression  was  not  likely 
to  be  weakened  by  the  remarks  of  Miss  Judy  Jiggle,  a  cousin  of  her 
husband,  who,  shortly  after,  dropped  in  for  tea  and  muffins.  In  her 
way,  and  it  was  the  oddest  imaginable,  Judy  was  a  nonpareil. 
That,  which,  in  almost  any  other  person,  would  have  been  absolute 
rudeness,  was,  in  her,  a  strange  compound  of  naivete  and  plain-heart* 
edness,  an  earnest  and  honest  desire  to  promote  the  welfare  of  her 
friends,  and  a  thorough  contempt  for  the  axiom,  that  the  truth  ii 
not  to  be  spoken  at  all  times.  Judy,  after  surveying  the  new  arti- 

VOL.  ii.  27* 


318  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

cles,  for  a  few  moments,  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth,  evi 
dently  for  the  purpose  of  strangling  a  fit  of  laughter  in  its  birth,  but 
in  vain.  'Why,  Peggy,'  said  she,  'what  is  all  this?'  —  'The 
pitcher,'  said  Mrs.  Lane,  coloring  with  displeasure,  '  is  a  present 
from  my  uncle  Saul,  and  the  sideboard  is  one  that  Mr.  Lane  has 
purchased,  or  rather  taken  in  exchange  for  our  old  one.' 

"  *  Mercy  upon  me,'  cried  Judy,  lifting  up  her  hands,  '  I  didn't 
think  your  uncle  Saul  was  such  a  fool.  If  he  'd  sent  you  the  value 
in  money,  or  family  stores,  there  would  have  been  some  sense  in  it. 
I  should  have  thought  cousin  Archy  might  have  had  more  sense 
than  to  have  brought  such  an  expensive  thing  into  a  house,  where 
there  's  not  an  article  to  match.  The  next  silly  thing  he  '11  do,  I 
suppose,  will  be  to  change  those  mean  little  cane-bottom  chairs,  for 
some  costly  trumpery.  He  '11  break  in  less  than  a  year,  I  dare 
say.'  —  So  little  ill-nature  was  there  in  these  remarks,  that,  when, 
upon  turning  towards  her,  she  perceived  Mrs.  Lane  was  shedding 
tears,  '  There  now,'  Judy  exclaimed,  *  what  a  fool  I  am  ;  I  've  hurt 
your  feelings,  you  dear  soul,'  and  instantly  embracing  her  cousin, 
began  to  shed  tears  herself,  which  caused  Peggy's  to  flow  more 
freely,  which  caused  Judy  to  sob  aloud  ;  and  when  Mr.  Lane 
entered,  as  he  did  shortly  after,  the  ladies  were  clasped  in  each  oth 
er's  arms,  and  seemed  to  be  incorporated,  for  the  purpose  of  carrying 
out  a  fit  of  hysterics.  Enough  was  disclosed,  in  broken  sentences, 
to  give  him  a  ready  comprehension  of  the  matter.  '  Dear  me,' 
said  he,  '  I  fear  cousin  Judy  will  never  talk  and  act  like  the  rest  of 
the  world,  and  I  'm  afraid  Peggy  will  never  get  thoroughly  broken 
into  the  only  safe  habit,  that  of  disregarding  her  strange  remarks.' 

"  *  Cousin  Archy,'  said  Miss  Jiggle, '  one  of  two  things  you  have 
got  to  do,  either  to  send  off  that  sideboard  directly,  or  get  a  set  of 
chairs  to  match.'  — '  Well,  Judy,'  he  replied,  'I  mean  to  do  the 
latter  to-morrow.  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  stopping  your  pretty 
mouth  with  a  hot  muffin?'  —  Tea  had  just  then  been  set  upon  the 
table. 

"  Accustomed  as  he  was  to  the  oddity  of  his  cousin  Judy,  he 
ftimself  was  not  always  entirely  proof  against  her  sudden  and  unex 
pected  attacks;  her  random  shots  occasionally  found  their  way 
between  the  joints  of  the  harness.  He  was  evidently  piqued  by  her 
last  suggestion,  the  more  so,  because  it  was  based  on  a  fact,  too 
palpable  to  be  questioned,  for  a  moment. 

"  The  very  next  day  a  new  bargain  was  made  with  "Wneer ;  a 
complete  set  of  new  mahogany  chairs  took  the  place  of  the  little 
cane-bottoms :  and,  to  make  the  arrangement  one  of  agreeable  snr- 
piise  to  his  wife,  an  opportunity  was  selected,  doing  her  absenc* 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  319 

ft 

in  the  morning,  for  effecting  the  exchange.  It  would  be  a  work  of 
supererogation  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  the  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  delight,  the  dear  Archys,  and  dear  Peggys,  that  passed, 
upon  this  interesting  occasion. 

"  How  soon  possession  makes  us  poor !  A  week  had  not  run  by, 
when  Mr.  Lane  had  the  mortification,  upon  his  return,  one  evening, 
from  the  store,  of  finding  his  little  wife  suffering  from  unaccountable 
Depression  of  spirits.  It  was  a  long  time  before  his  most  earnest 
inquiries  could  elicit  the  cause.  '  Whom  have  you  had  to  visit  you 
to-day,  my  love?'  said  Mr.  Lane.  —  'Mrs.  Fryer,  my  dear,'  she 
replied,  '  and  the  three  Miss  Pickflaws,  and  Mrs.  Upperdunk,  and  a 
very  disagreeable  body  she  is ;  and  Mrs.  Freetattle  passed  half  the 
morning  here.'  — '  Well-,  and  was  not  Mrs.  Freetattle  pleased,  that 
you  had  taken  her  advice  about  the  sideboard?'  — '  Oh  yes,  Archy, 
she  seemed  mightily  pleased.  The  first  thing  she  said,  when  she 
saw  it,  was,  "  There,  dear,  didn't  I  tell  you  so!"  She  praised  it 
to  the  skies.  She  called  the  other  ladies  to  look  at  it.  The  Miss 
Pickflaws  had  never  seen  one  of  that  kind,  that  didn't  crack  —  they 
thought  it  much  too  large  —  it  was  very  handsome,  but  sideboards 
were  going  out  very  rapidly.  Mrs.  Freetattle  requested  Mrs.  Up- 
\  ?rdunk  to  look  at  the  chairs,  and  all  she  said  was  "  umph,"  turning 
l.er  nose  up  in  the  air.  She  then  asked  her  if  she  did  not  think  the 
?;deboard  very  handsome  ;  and  again  she  said  "  umph,"  tossing  her 
nose  still  higher.  She  then  drew  her  attention  to  the  pitcher,  when 
she  cried  "  umph,"  louder  than  before,  and  tossed  her  nose  higher 
than  ever.  After  she  had  gone,  the  three  Miss  Pickflaws,  who,  I 
thought,  were  her  most  intimate  friends,  from  their  particular 
sweetness  towards  her,  remarked  upon  the  rudeness  of  her  manners. 
They  laughed  heartily  at  her  bustle,  which  was  all  on  one  side.  — 
They  said  she  was  nobody  in  Germany,  and  that  she  had  not  the 
true,  fashionable  toss  of  the  nose,  by  any  means.  I  don't  believe  the 
Miss  Pickflaws  are  very  sincere  ;  for  Mrs.  Freetattle  told  me,  when 
we  were  by  ourselves,  that,  notwithstanding  their  compliments, 
which  were  very  lavishly  bestowed,  they  were,  all  the  time  they 
were  here,  making  fun  of  the  carpet.  She  says  she  saw  the  eldest, 
Miss  Betty,  as  often  as  my  back  was  turned,  pointing  one  finger  at 
the  carpet  and  another  at  the  pitcher.  Mrs.  Freetattle  says,  Archy 
dear,  that  this  Kidderminster  carpet  will  never  answer  in  the  world 
with  the  sideboard  and  chairs  :  she  also  said  the  furnishing  would 
be  very  incomplete,  even  then,  without  one  pier-table  at  least,  and 
a  sofa.'  — '  Really,  dear  Peggy,'  said  Mr.  Lane,  with  an  unusually 
anxious  expression  of  face,  '  really  I  cannot  afford  it.'  —  'I  told  her 
«o,  Archy ,  and,  only  think,  she  laughed  in  my  face,  and  said  every- 


320  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN 

ty 

body  knew  you  was  getting  rich  very  fast,  and  that,  for  her  p^rt. 
she  couldn't  see  the  wisdom  of  hoarding  up  riches  for  nobod)  Lr^vv 
whom.'  — '  I  rather  think,'  replied  Mr.  Lane,  '  that  I  understand  my 
affairs  better  than  Mrs.  Freetattle.'  —  'I'm  afraid,  Archy,'  said 
his  wife,  as  she  noticed  the  gravity  of  her  husband's  countenarce, 
'  I  'm  afraid  you  '11  think  I  am  extravagant,  and  I  'm  sure  dear 
Archy,'  —  a  tear  stood  in  her  eye,  —  it  was  a  pearl,  in  her  over -fond 
husband's  estimation,  sufficiently  valuable  to  pay  for  the  celebrated 
*  cloth  of  gold,'  and,  of  course,  for  the  finest  Saxony  in  the  world. 

—  'Extravagant !  my  love,  certainly  not.     Mrs.  Freetattle  is  right, 
perfectly  right.     Consistency  demands,  that  we  should  have  these 
articles,  or  rid  ourselves  of  the  others ;  the  latter  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion.'     He  kissed  his  pretty  wife,  incomparably  more  so  in  her 
tears ;  and,  instead  of  devoting  their  evening  to  the  perusal  of  some 
interesting  volume,  according  to  their  usual  custom,  they  consumed 
it  in  discoursing  upon  the  comparative  merits  of  Brussels  and  Sax 
ony,  measuring  their  floor  to  ascertain  the  number  of  yards  required, 
and  deciding  upon  the  most  appropriate  positions  for  the  pier-tables 
and  the  sofa.     '  Well,  my  love,'  said  Mr.  Lane,  after  the  little  area 
had  been  traversed  as  industriously  as  ever  the  South  Pacific  was 
traversed  by  Captain  Cook,  '  I  feel  more  weary  than  is  usual  i>  r 
me  ;  before  we  retire,  let 's  have  a  glass  of  that  sherry.'  — '  What, 
now,  dear?'  said  his  wife  ;  'you  never  took  wine,  in  the  evening1, 
since  I  knew  you,  and  you  used  to  say,  that  one  glass  after  dinnei 
was  your  daily  allowance.'  — 'True,  Peggy,  but  this  is  my  nightly 
allowance,'  said  he,  with  a  laugh.  —  Mrs.  Lane  produced  the  de 
canter,  and  her  husband,  after  persuading  his  wife  to  take  a  glass 
first  herself,  poured  out  a  brimmer ;  and,  after  drinking  it,  and  com 
menting  on  the  good  quality  of  the  sherry,  he  poured  out  another. 
'  Mrs.  Freetattle  's  a  philosopher,  Peggy,'  said  he,  as  he  continued 
to  sip.     '  There  's  not  much  wisdom,  as  she  says,  in  hoarding  up 
riches.     What  is  the  use  of  it !     If  we  don't  enjoy  life's  blessings, 
as  we  go  along,  we  shall  get  to  the  end  of  it  before  we  know  it.'  — 
'Why,  Archy,  my  love,'  cried  his  wife,  as  he  was  proceeding  tc 
pour  out  another  glass,  'you'll  be  tipsy  as  sure  as  you  live.'  — 

'  Never  fear,  my  little  angel,  this  shall  be  the  fast.  I  should  like  to 
see  those  three  Pickflaws  swallowed  up  like  Korah's  troop  in  the 
primer  —  ha!  ha!  ha!  Jerry  Bustler  in  Peppermint  square  !  He 
must  look  and  feel  like  an  as*  in  armor.  —  I  '11  tell  you  what,  Peggy 

—  in  one  year  from  this  time,  I'll  —  you'll  see  —  never  mind.  — 
Lovey,  I  've  been  thinking  we  must,  before  long,  be  doing  the  gen 
teel  thing  by  your  uncle  Saul.     We  must  have  him  to  dinner,  my 
dear.     We  must  do  the  thing  handsomely,  you  know.     Let 's  see 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  321 

whom  shall  we  invite  ?  there  's  — '  —  *  It 's  past  eleven,  Archy,'  said 
his  wife  ;  '  suppose  we  talk  of  it  to-morrow.'  — '  Uncle  Saul,'  said 
Mr.  Lane,  slapping  the  table  so  smartly,  as  he  rose,  that  his  little 
wife  looked  round  with  astonishment,  —  '  uncle  Saul  never  tasted 
better  wine  than  that.  Freetattle  's  a  philosopher  ;  you  may  tell 
her  I  say  so.'  With  these  words,  Mr.  Lane  suffered  his  wife  to 
remove  the  decanter,  and  they  retired  for  the  night. 

"  Mr.  Lane  awoke  rather  later  than  usual,  with  a  headache. 
Mrs.  Lane  had  a  restless  night.  She  had  fantastic  dreams  of  Mrs. 
Freetattle,  and  Veneer,  and  her  uncle  Saul.  These  visions  were 
the  very  quintessence  of  absurdity,  but  they  were  faithfully  related, 
as  usual,  at  the  breakfast-table  ;  and  the  laughter  they  occasioned 
seemed  to  have  a  beneficial  influence  upon  her  husband's  headache, 
for  he  complained  of  it  no  more.  She  had  seen,  in  her  sleep,  four 
immense  pier-tables,  and  on  each  an  uncle  Saul,  the  size  of  a  giant, 
holding  four  capacious  silver  pitchers,  larger  than  cider-barrels ; 
her  cousin  Judy  and  the  three  Miss  Pickflaws  stood,  each  by  the 
side  of  one  of  the  pitchers,  and,  at  the  same  instant,  they  all  pointed 
their  fingers  at  her,  with  a  malicious  laugh,  and  a  sheriff  jumped 
out  of  every  pitcher.  In  a  moment,  the  scene  appeared  to  change, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  alone,  in  her  father's  little  parlor,  in  Cricket- 
vilk. 

"  Many  weeKs  naa  not  elapsed  before  Mrs.  Lane  became  the 
happy  proprietress  of  an  exceedingly  beautiful  Brussels  carpet,  and 
hearth-rug,  and  two  handsome  pier-tables,  with  an  elegant  steel  fire- 
set,  and  some  very  pretty  mantel  ornaments,  selected  by  that  atten 
tive  and  excellent  friend,  Mrs.  Freetattle. 

"  There  are  some  things  more  easy,  amid  the  chances  and  changes 
of  this  world,  than  to  keep,  with  perfect  accuracy,  the  run  of  one's 
affairs,  —  or,  as  the  seamen  say,  to  cast  the  log,  —  allow  for  lee 
way,  and  tides,  and  currents.  Even  with  a  well-defined  revenue, 
as  little  liable  to  be  affected  by  the  operation  of  events  as  possible, 
it  is  not  the  most  simple  affair  so  to  distribute  one's  resources,  over 
the  whole  annual  circle,  that  no  deficiency  shall  be  found  in  any 
particular  part ;  or,  in  the  expressive  phraseology  of  Tooley  McPhee, 
*  to  sprid  a  pund  o'  butter  so  nately  and  complately  over  an  acre  o' 
brid,  .as  not  to  laave  a  thridbare  spot  anywhere  at  all.'  The  supe- 
rioiity  of  prevention  over  remedy  is  nowhere  more  manifest,  than  in 
relation  to  the  habit  of  extravagance.  When  once  commenced,  it  is 
not  easily  corrected.  Mr.  Lane  idolized  his  little  wife ;  and  our 
friends,  the  Irish,  are  not  more  thoroughly  convinced,  that  every 
species  of  extravagance  is  sanctified,  when  money  and  credit  are  em 
ployed  for  a  '  birrel  and  a  wake,'  than  was  he,  when  devoting  hi* 


322  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

resources  for  the  gratification  of  her  wishes.  It  was  most  true  thesa 
expenditures  preyed  upon  his  purse  severely,  and  at  a  time  when 
money  was  scarce,  and  he  could  poorly  afford  to  abstract  a  single 
dollar  of  his  capital  from  trade.  But  the  pleasure  he  received  — 
the  reflected  pleasure  —  from  contemplating  the  satisfaction,  exhib 
ited  by  her,  in  the  midst  of  her  possessions,  was  a  luxury,  for  which 
h«  was  willing  to  pay  a  full  equivalent. 

"  In  a  few  weeks,  came  off,  to  use  a  popular  phrase,  the  dinner 
to  uncle  Saul.  I  could  readily  describe  that  dinner  —  I  was  there 
—  but  the  detail,  however  amusing,  would  consume  more  time  than 
can  be  afforded  by  this  assembly  ;  and  I  perceive  the  candles  are, 
some  of  them,  already"  —  turning  with  a  smile  towards  Captain 
Tarbox  —  "more  than  half  seas  over."  —  "Plenty  more  in  the 
locker,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  and  gave  the  sexton  a  hint,  who 
promptly  attended  to  his  duty.  "It  was  a  fine  affair,"  continued 
Mr.  Skillington.  "I  will  only  say  that  about  eighteen  of  us  sat 
down  to  an  elegant  repast,  in  the  preparation  of  which  no  expense 
seemed  to  have  been  spared.  By  the  advice  of  Mrs.  Freetattle,  who 
loaned  her  man,  Tim  Hurry,  for  the  occasion,  a  new  extension  table 
had  been  purchased  of  Veneer,  and  a  quantity  of  silver  forks  from 
the  jeweller.  Mrs.  Lane  observed,  that  she  was  sure  she  did  not 
want  them,  but  she  supposed,  as  the  company  were  fashionable 
folks,  they  would  think  it  rather  strange  not  to  see  them  on  the 
table.  It  was,  in  truth,  a  merry  time.  Everybody  was  in  excellent 
humor.  Colonel  Picket,  better  known  to  this  assembly  as  uncle 
Saul,  drank  more  wine  than  was  good  for  him,  and  so,  I  am  sorry 
to  say  it,  did  Mr.  Lane.  The  old  temperance  societies  were  then 
becoming  popular,  I  mean  those,  whose  members  abstained  from 
ardent  spirit  alone.  Uncle  Saul  approved  of  them  highly ;  so  did 
Mr.  Lane ;  and  the  more  wine  they  drank,  the  more  severe  were 
their  remarks  against  the  use  and  traffic  in  ardent  spirit.  There 
was  a  degree  of  ignorance,  then  prevailing,  in  regard  to  the  philoso 
phy  of  drunkenness,  which  is  matter  of  infinite  surprise  to  us  now. 
We  did  not  seem  to  reflect,  that  with  Him,  who  is  of  purer  eyes 
than  to  behold  iniquity,  and  who  has  commanded  us  to  abstain  from 
drunkenness,  it  can  be  of  no  importance,  whether  that  drunkenness 
be  produced  by  rum  or  by  wine  —  by  one  inebriant  or  by  another. 
We  were  none  of  us  in  the  very  best  possible  condition  for  drawing 
4istinctions  upon  that  occasion.  —  Uncle  Saul  was  the  lion,  of  course 
He  told  stories  of  India,  as  George  Coleman  says, 

'  Long,  dull,  and  old, 
As  great  lords'  stories  often  are.' 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTEKTOWN.  SScJ 

He  told  us  about  the  suttees,  and  about  the  seapoys ;  and  poor  Mrs, 
Freetattle  inquired  how  they  were  seasoned,  mistaking  the  word  foi 
sea-pies,  which  occasioned  much  laughter,  in  which  Mary  McGuire, 
the  Irish  girl,  joined  so  heartily,  that  Mrs.  Lane  was  obliged  to  bid 
her  leave  the  room.  On  the  whole,  the  affair  went  off  exceedingly 
well.  The  parlor  was  so  very  small,  however,  that  it  was  with 
great  difficulty  Tim  and  Mary,  especially  the  latter,  who  was  very 
corpulent,  contrived  to  put  on  and  take  off;  and,  upon  one  occasion, 
as  she  was  attempting  to  squeeze  behind  uncle  Saul,  at  the  very 
moment  he  was  relating  the  history  of  a  conflict  among  the  Mahrat- 
tas,  a  sudden  jerk  of  his  chair  pinned  her  to  the  wall.  *  Och  !  my 
vitals!'  she  exclaimed,  and,  for  an  instant,  we  supposed  her  seri 
ously  injured  ;  but  fortunately  she  was  unhurt.  In  the  evening  the 
pitcher  was  paraded  about,  filled  with  hot  mulled  wine,  which  cer 
tainly  was  altogether  superfluous.  The  colonel  and  Mr.  Lane 
seemed  to  be  on  the  footing  of  old  and  familiar  friends.  I  overheard 
them  conversing  on  the  subject  of  cashmeres,  and  the  colonel  told 
him  he  would  put  him  in  the  way  of  getting  them  of  a  very  superior 
quality,  and  almost  for  nothing.  At  length  the  party  broke  up ; 
and  uncle  Saul  went  off  in  the  greatest  glee,  about  twelve  at  night, 
telling  the  company  that  they  were,  one  and  all,  bound  over  to  meet 
at  his  house,  some  day  the  following  week,  to  taste  his  India  wine. 
"  A  few  days  after  this  important  event,  Mrs.  Lane  unexpectedly 
received  a  visit  from  Mrs.  Bustler.  '  Only  think  of  it,  Archy,'  said 
the  former  to  her  husband,  on  his  return  from  the  store,  '  Priscy 
Millet,  Mrs.  Jerry  Bustler  I  mean,  called  here  to-day  in  a  coach. 
It  was  so  late  I  thought  nobody  would  come,  and  Mary  had  laid  the 
cloth,  which  was  a  little  soiled  —  I  told  the  foolish  girl,  yesterday, 
not  to  lay  that  cloth  again,  till  it  had  been  washed  —  besides,  it, 
most  unfortunately,  had  a  hole  in  it.  What  sent  her  here,  I  'm  sure 
I  don't  know.  It 's  full  half  a  year,  since  I  've  seen  her  to  speak  to 
her.  I  should  scarcely  have  known  her  anywhere,  she  was  so 
bedizened  off  with  all  sorts  of  fine  things  — her  gold  watch,  and 
gold  pencil-case,  and  chains,  and  sable  muff  and  tippet,  and  diamond 
pin  ;  and,  you  know  how  thin  her  figure  is  —  well,  as  she  went  out, 
she  looked  like  an  air  balloon,  and  Mary  said,  it  was  so  enormous 
that  she  could  scarcely  get  it  into  the  carriage  after  her,  and  the 
coachman  had  to  "  squaaze  it  in  after  the  poor  leddy."  She  's  ost 
all  her  bloom.  I  could  scarcely  believe  she  was  the  rosy-faced  girl 
that  I  used  to  see  sitting  in  her  homespun  frock,  at  her  father's 
window  in  Cricketville,  binding  shoes.  —  "Why.  Priscy,"  said  I 
as  she  came  in,  "  is  it  you?"  She  replied,  with  all  the  formality  in 
the  world,  "I  hope  you  are  well,  madam."  She  scarcely  said  a 


324  TEMPERANCE  3VTEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

word,  after  she  sat  down.  I  tried  to  support  the  conversation,  as 
well  as  I  was  able ;  and  I  never  was  so  tired  in  all  my  life.  1 
alluded  to  our  former  residence  in  Cricketville.  "  It 's  so  long  since 
I  was  there,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  that  my  recollection  of  Cricketville 
is  quite  evanescent."  I  could  almost  have  laughed  in  her  face. — 
"  You  do  not  visit  much,  I  believe,  ma'am,"  said  she  ;  "  I  did  not 
see  you  at  Mrs.  Perriwinkle's  rout,  nor  at  Mrs.  Flipparty's  ball." 
This  was  only  to  show  me  she  was  there  herself.  Well,  not  a 
remark  did  she  make  about  anything  she  saw  ;  she  said  not  a  word 
about  the  pitcher ;  and  sat,  the  whole  time,  with  her  little,  sharp, 
black  eyes,  staring  at  the  hole  in  the  table-cloth.  Now  it 's  nothing 
but  sheer  envy,  Archy.'  —  'Oh  no,  my  dear,'  he  replied,  '  I  think 
you  are  entirely  mistaken.  When  you  return  her  call,  you  will 
probably  see  more  finery  at  their  house,  than  you  are  aware  of.  I  'm 
told  it 's  very  expensively  furnished,  and  his  extravagance  is  a  com 
mon  topic.  No,  my  dear,  I  think  I  can  explain  her  behavior  very 
readily.  It  is  considered  a  mark  of  very  high  breeding  to  admire 
nothing,  and,  indeed,  to  seem  to  see  nothing,  in  the  houses  of  those 
we  visit.  That  's  it,  my  dear,  nothing  else,  depend  upon  it.' 

"  Uncle  Saul  was  a  bachelor.  He  was  supposed  to  be  immensely 
rich.  He  used  to  say,  that  his  lungs  were  not  strong  enough  for 
matrimony,  and  although  there  were  some  good  things  in  it 
undoubtedly,  yet  he  was  opposed  to  slavery  in  all  forms,  and  meant 
never  to  put  on  the  fetters  of  wedded  life.  Mrs.  Peggy  Lane  was 
his  favorite  niece.  The  corollary  was  irresistible,  in  the  opinion  of 
Mrs.  Freetattle.  She  was  sure  he  would  leave  the  bulk  of  his 
wealth  to  Mrs.  Lane,  who,  having  the  most  perfect  reliance  upon 
the  judgment  of  Mrs.  Freetattle,  was  rapidly  inclining  to  the  same 
opinion. 

"  About  the  middle  of  the  ensuing  week,  arrangements  were 
made  for  a  splendid  dinner-party,  at  the  residence  of  uncle  Saul. 
The  company  were  much  the  same  as  were,  shortly  before, 
assembled  at  Mr.  Lane's,  with  two  or  three  additions.  It  was  a 
sumptuous  affair;  and  it  was  agreed,  on  all  hands,  that  the  India 
wine  was  incomparable.  It  was  certainly  tested  by  some  of  the 
company,  most  effectually.  Uncle  Saul  himself,  though  a  veteian 
in  this  species  of  warfare,  became,  long  before  the  end  of  the  enter 
tainment,  superlatively  silly ;  and  Mr.  Lane  was  clearly  unable  to 
talk  coherently,  or  to  speak  without  lisping.  Even  the  widow, 
Mrs.  Freetattle,  became  ridiculously  sentimental,  and  sighed,  while 
she  sipped  her  bonne  bouche,  as  if  some  weighty  matter  pressed  upon 
her  heart.  Medical  men,  however,  upon  such  occasions,  cannot 
always  determine,  whether  the  trouble  is  in  the  heart  or  the  epigas- 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN   TATTERTOWN.  325 

trie  region.  Uncle  Saul  whispered  something  in  her  ear,  and  she 
tapped  him  on  the  cheek  with  her  fan,  and  told  him  he  was  a 
naughty  man.  I  overheard  her  say  to  him,  just  before  we  separated, 
and  in  rather  a  sotto  voice,  that,  until  that  evening,  she  had  never 
been  so  forcibly  reminded  of  her  dear,  departed  Freetattle. 

"  But  it  is  quite  desirable  to  condense  the  substance  of  this  narra 
tive  within  as  small  a  compass  as  possible.  We  have  not  time  for 
the  entire  detail.  Three  short  years  had  rolled  rapidly  away. 
Within  this  period,  Jerry  Bustler  had  failed,  stock  and  fluke,  as 
Captain  Tarbox  would  say,  and  become  the  salesman  of  one  of  his 
former  clerks,  who  had  been  very  successful,  and  was  ascending  the 
very  ladder  from  which  Jerry  had  descended.  Priscilla  had  returned 
to  her  father,  in  Cricketville.  Mr.  Lane  had  removed  into  a  larger 
house.  His  growing  habits  of  extravagance  and  conviviality  had 
impaired  his  property,  seriously  affected  his  credit,  and  acquired  for 
him  the  unenviable  reputation  of  drinking  more  wine  than  was  good 
for  him.  He  adhered  nevertheless  to  his  pledge,  such  as  it  was, 
with  scrupulous  fidelity.  Nobody  said  he  was  a  drunkard  ;  though 
he  often  returned  at  unseasonable  hours  from  his  social  suppers, 
with  a  swimming  brain  and  an  unsteady  step.  Peggy  was  not  as 
happy,  with  all  her  fine  things  around  her,  as  when  she  was  the 
first  chorister  in  Cricketville,  or  when  she  commenced  her  unosten 
tatious  career,  with  the  little  cracked  sideboard,  and  the  Kidder 
minster  carpet,  and  those  cane-bottom  chairs.  No — Peggy  was  not 
so  light-hearted  now.  As  Mary  McGuire  expressed  it,  '  She  was 
not  the  swaat-tempered  leddy  that  she 'had  been.'  Mr.  Lane's 
business  had  not  prospered  of  late,  as  much  as  in  former  years. 
Competitors  had  arisen  all  around  him,  and  a  store  had  been  opened, 
in  the  adjoining  building,  whose  plate-glass  windows,  vastly  larger 
than  his  own,  attracted  the  admiration  of  all  beholders.  The  flirta 
tion  between  uncle  Saul  and  Mrs.  Freetattle,  amounted  to  nothing. 
All  recollection  of  it  passed  off  with  the  fumes  of  the  India  wine ; 
and,  in  a  few  months,  uncle  Saul,  whose  habits  of  migration  had 
become  inveterate,  returned  to  South  India,  and  died,  the  following 
year,  in  Madras. 

"  The  first  question,  after  the  intelligence  of  his  decease  arrived, 
Was  not  —  did  he  die  a  Christian  1  —  but,  has  he  left  a  will  ?  How 
much  did  he  leave  1  —  who  are  his  devisees  ?  Mr.  Lane  cherished 
a  strong  impression,  that  his  wife  had  not  been  forgotten,  by  her 
wealthy  uncle.  There  had  never  been  an  occasion  upon  which  tha 
receipt  of  a  few  thousand  dollars  would  have  been  more  acceptable. 
His  affairs  had  fallen  into  some  disorder.  While  he  and  Mrs.  Lane 
were  discussing  this  important  subject,  Mrs.  Freetattle  suddenly 

VOL.  ii.  28 


326  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

bounced  into  the  room  — '  Good  news ! '  she  exclaimed, '  good  news 
for  you  both  !  Gropple,  the  attorney,  says  he  drew  your  uncle 
Saul's  will,  and  has  it  now  in  his  possession  :  he  made  it,  just  before 
he  went  away  to  Madras ;  and,  after  a  few  legacies  of  no  great 
importance,  he  has  left  the  whole  residue  of  his  property  to  Mrs. 
Margaret  Lane.  There  's  for  you  !  Did  n't  I  tell  you  so  ?'  —  Mr. 
Lane  had  gone  to  the  sideboard  and  taken  out  the  decanter  — '  For 
pity's  sake,  Mr.  Lane,'  said  his  wife,  with  an  expression  of  anxious 
displeasure, '  don't  drink  any  more  wine  to-day  ;  you  've  drunk  half 
a  dozen  glasses  already  at  dinner  !'  —  '  One  bumper,  Mrs.  Lane,'  he 
replied, '  to  the  memory  of  your  excellent  uncle.'  Those  endearing 
epithets,  which  had  been  employed,  during  the  humbler  and  happier 
period  of  their  married  life,  had  given  place  to  a  more  cold  and 
formal  style  of  address.  — '  I  'm  sure,'  said  Mrs.  Lane,  '  my  uncle 
was  very  kind  to  make  his  will  in  our  favor,  and  I  truly  hope, 
whatever  may  be  received,  will  be  so  placed,  that  it  cannot  be  squan 
dered.'  — '  I  hope  so  too,'  said  her  husband,  with  evident  asperity  ; 
*  but  really,  Mrs.  Lane,  if  we  have  gotten  into  embarrassment,  it  is  by 
your  uncle's  means,  as  I  understand  it ;  and  it  is  but  right  he  should 
help  us  out  of  it.'  —  '  My  uncle  Saul  got  you  into  your  embarrass 
ment  !  why,  what  do  you  mean ,  Mr.  Lane  ? '  —  *  Why  I  mean  neither 
more  nor  less  than  this  —  when  we  were  married,  four  years  ago, 
we  began,  as  we  ought  to  begin,  in  a  plain,  frugal  manner  ;  and,  had 
I  consulted  my  own  pleasure,  we  should  have  gone  on  as  we  began  ; 
and  my  business  would  have  afforded  us  a  handsome  support.  But 
your  uncle  Saul  took  it  into  his  head  to  send  you  a  curse,  in  the 
shape  of  that  silver  pitcher.  Then  you  discovered,  that  the  old 
sideboard  would  not  answer,  and  I  was  obliged  to  get  a  new,  and  a 
vastly  more  expensive  one.'  —  'Mr.  Lane,  how  unjust  you  are,' 
exclaimed  his  wife  ;  '  did  I  ask  you  to  do  it  ?  did  n't  you  say  your 
business  was  so  good,  that  you  could  afford  it  very  well?'  — '  No 
such  thing,'  said  Mr.  Lane.  *  After  you  got  the  sideboard,  the 
chairs  would  not  answer  ;  and  I  must  get  new  ones.  After  you  got 
the  chairs,  the  carpet  would  not  answer  ;  and  I  must  get  a  new 
carpet.  After  I  got  the  carpet,  the  room  would  not  look  as  it  ought 
to,  without  pier-tables  ;  so  I  got  pier-tables.  After  I  got  pier-tables, 
you  must  have  a  sofa.  After  I  got  the  sofa,  your  fancy  must  be 
gratified  with  a  centre-lamp.  And  so  I  have  been  driven  along,  in 
this  career  of  folly  arid  extravagance,  until  the  house  would  not  hold 
all  the  trumpery,  that  has  been  bought,  fiom  time  to  time,  and  so  I 
was  obliged  to  take  a  new,  and  a  larger  house.  I  consider  Mrs. 
Freetattle  as  a  friend  of  the  family,  and  I  say,  before  her,  as  I  would 
before  you,  that  my  affairs  are  embarrassed.  The  banks  will  give 


1'EMPERANCE   MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  327 

me  no  assistance  ;  and,  if  I  don't  get  relief  somewhere,  I  must  give 
up,  that 's  all.  Now  I  consider,  as  I  said  before,  that  your  uncle 
Saul  got  us  into  the  scrape,  and  it  is  but  fair  he  should  help  us 
out  of  it.'  — '  Dear  Mr.  Lane,'  said  Mrs.  Freetattle,  '  don't  talk  so, 
I  entreat  you  ;  you  see  your  poor  wife  is  in  tears.'  — '  Well,'  said 
Mr.  Lane,  rising  and  taking  his  hat,  '  I  '11  go  to  my  store,  and 
wrangle  with  my  creditors,  for  I  dare  say  some  of  them  are  there  ; 
and  I  '11  leave  you  and  Mrs.  Lane  to  plan  some  safe  way  to  dispose 
of  her  uncle  Saul's  money,  so  that  it  may  not  be  squandered.1 
These  last  words  were  the  same,  unfortunately  used  by  Mrs.  Lane, 
and  which  had  chiefly  produced  this  ebullition  of  ill-temper,  strangely 
tinctured,  as  it  was,  with  the  spirit  of  truth. 

"  '  Oh  my  dear  Mrs.  Freetattle,'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lane,  after  her 
husband  had  left  the  room,  '  for  nearly  two  years  he  has  been  get 
ting  cross,  just  as  you  see,  ever  since  he  got  into  the  way  of  drink 
ing  wine  freely ;  and,  sometimes,  his  manners  are  so  harsh,  that  I 
heartily  wish  myself  at  home  with  my  father.'  —  '  Well,  my  dear,' 
said  Mrs.  Freetattle,  '  I  suppose  it  is  partly  occasioned  by  trouble 
about  his  affairs,  and  he  was  .vexed,  I  dare  say,  by  that  suggestion 
of  yours,  about  making  any  other  use  of  the  money  you  are  to 
receive  by  your  uncle  Saul's  wi.ll,  than  relieving  your  husband  from 
his  embarrassment.  But  I  've  no  doubt,  my  dear,  you  will  receive 
enough  to  pay  off  all  his  debts,  and  have  a  handsome  sum  invested 
for  your  own  use,  in  case  of  accident.'  — '  I'm  sure,'  said  Mrs.  Lane 
—  and  she  wept  bitterly  —  '  I  would  give  him  every  cent  of  it,  if  he 
would  give  up  his  habit  of  drinking,  which  always  makes  him  talk 
so  sharply  to  me.  But  what  are  we  to  do  about  the  will  ?'  —  '  Law 
yer  Gropple  says,'  replied  Mrs.  Freetattle,  '  that  it  must  be  proved 
here,  and  a  certified  copy  must  be  sent  out  to  India.  He  means  to 
write  a  note  to  Mr.  Lane,  inviting  him  to  call  at  the  office,  and  look 
at  the  will.' 

"  Mr.  Lane,  in  due  time,  was  made  acquainted  with  the  contents 
of  the  will ;  and  found,  that,  after  the  bequest  of  some  small  sums 
in  legacies,  and,  among  them,  five  hundred  dollars  to  his  friend, 
Mrs.  Felicia  Freetattle,  for  the  purchase  of  a  Cashmere  shawl,  the 
color  to  be  selected  by  herself,  the  entire  residue  was  left  to  his 
beloved  niece,  Mrs.  Lane,  without  restriction  or  limitation.  Mr. 
Lane,  very  naturally,  made  the  public,  in  general,  and  his  creditors, 
in  particular,  acquainted  with  the  very  agreeable  prospect,  which 
lay  before  him. 

"  Colonel  Saul  Picket  had  obtained  a  very  large  estate,  in  South 
India,  in  exchange  for  the  liver  complaint,  of  which,  exacerbated, 
no  doubt,  by  his  liberal  habits  of  living,  he  ultimately  died.  He 


328  TEMPffivANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

was  one  of  those  —  and  such  there  are  —  who  derive  a  high  degree 
of  satisfaction  from  a  prospective  contemplation  of  his  wealth,  as  it 
were,  beyond  the  grave.  In  other  words,  that  which,  to  a  great 
many,  perhaps  to  the  majority  of  mankind,  is  an  operation  full  of 
needless  solemnity  and  awe,  was  to  him  particularly  agreeable  —  to 
be  more  explicit,  he  was  never  more  agreeably  employed  than  when 
making  his  last  will  and  testament.  Upon  his  occasional  returns  to 
America,  he  indulged  himself  in  this  species  of  recreation  ;  no  less 
than  four  last  wills  of  Colonel  Saul  Picket  were  offered  for  probate 
in  four  different  states  of  the  Union.  The  annunciation  of  another 
last  will  had  three  times  already  alarmed  Mrs.  Freetattle  for  the 
security  of  her  Cashmere  shawl.  But  the  will  in  possession  of  Law 
yer  Gropple  proved,  as  he  assured  her,  to  be  the  very  last  will  and 
testament  of  Colonel  Saul  Picket.  In  due  form  of  law  it  was  proved 
and  allowed,  and  Greedy  Gropple,  Esquire,  appointed  executor. 
Copies,  duly  attested,  were  forwarded  to  Madras,  by  two  vessels, 
lest  some  casualty  might  happen  to  one  of  them,  —  and,  by  both  con 
veyances,  Mrs.  Freetattle  wrote,  signifying  that  she  had  selected  a 
white  Cashmere.  After  a  lapse  of  vety  many  months,  during  which 
the  creditors  of  Mr.  Lane  had  become  exceedingly  impatient,  intel 
ligence  was  received  from  Mr.  Gropple's  correspondent  in  Madras, 
that  there  existed  another  last  will,  made  about  a  week  before  the 
colonel  died,  in  which  he  had  bequeathed  to  his  well-beloved  niece, 
Mrs.  Margaret  Lane,  fifty  rupees,  to  purchase  a  mourning  ring, 
with  a  particular  request,  that  the  ring  might  be  selected  by  Mrs. 
Felicia  Freetattle  ;  and  the  rest  of  his  estate,  which  was  said  to  be 
immense,  he  had  left  to  a  lady  in  South  India,  to  whom  he  was 


"  The  shock,  produced  by  this  intelligence,  may  be  more  easily 
imagined  than  described.  Its  first  practical  effect  appeared,  in  the 
form  of  four  writs  of  attachment  upon  the  property  of  Mr.  Lane, 
which  were  served,  the  evening  of  the  day  when  the  information 
arrived.  Judy  Jiggle  said  she  always  knew  it  would  come  to  this. 
The  Miss  Pickflaws  were  very  desirous  of  being  informed,  if  Mrs. 
Freetattle  had  decided  on  the  color  of  her  Cashmere  shawl.  Mr. 
Lane  turned  in  all  directions  for  relief,  but  utterly  in  vain.  If  the 
plague-spot  had  been  upon  him,  he  would  not  have  been  more  studi 
ously  avoided  by  his  friends.  His  wife,  after  the  first  shock  was 
over  —  a  burning  flush  of  inexpressible  surprise  and  offended  pride 
—  one  full  flood  of  streaming  tears  —  speedily  recovered  her  self- 
possession.  Coming  out  of  her  chamber,  she  encountered  her  hus 
band,  the  very  image  of  rage  and  despair,  his  face  miserably  flushed, 
and  his  hand  upon  his  burning  brow.  She  sprang  towards  him* 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN.  329 

and,  forgetting  all  his  recent  ill-treatment  in  his  present  misery,  she 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  exclaimed,  '  Dear  A.rchy,'  —  an 
epithet  unused  of  late,  —  '  we  can  he  just  as  happy  as  we  ever  were 
in  our  lives.  We  have  no  children,  for  whose  sake  we  might  be 
tempted  to  lament  over  the  loss  of  property.  If  you,  my  dear  hus 
band,  will  only  resolve  to  give  up  one  single  habit,  we  can  go  and 
live,  upon  very  little,  in  Cricketville.'  —  'Live  in  Cricketville ' 

Live  in '  He  paused,  stamping  his  foot  upon  the  floor  with 

violence,  and  slapping  his  forehead.  How  he  would  have  filled  this 
blank,  in  that  moment  of  desperation,  I  know  not.  His  poor  little 
wife  recoiled  back  into  a  chair,  and,  burying  her  face  in  her  hands, 
gave  way  to  a  flood  of  scalding  tears.  —  'Live  on  a  little!'  he 
exclaimed,  after  a  moment's  pause  ;  '  I  am  utterly  stripped ;  and 
when  all  this  accursed  trumpery  has  been  sacrificed  under  the  ham 
mer,  or  rather  the  hatchet,  cf  the  auctioneer,  there  will  still  remain 
a  debt,  which  I  never  can  pay,  hanging  like  a  millstone  about  my 
neck,  and  dragging  me  down  to  the  end  of  my  wretched  existence.' 
— '  Oh,  Archy,'  said  his  wife,  '  don't  give  way  to  your  feelings  in 
this  way.  Priscy  Millet  —  Jerry  Bustler's  wife,  I  mean  —  says,  as 
I  have  heard,  that  she  never  was  half  so  happy  in  her  life  as  she  is 
at  present.  She  looks  back  and  laughs  at  her  silly  dreams  of  high 
life,  and  is  engaged  in  the  Sunday  School,  and  occupies  her 
thoughts  about  many  better  things  than  those  foolish  visions,  which 
.once  seemed  to  be  the  chief  end  of  her  existence.  My  father  told 
me,  the  last  time  he  was  here,  that  she  was  not  ashamed  to  dress 
herself  in  the  plainest  manner,  and  that  she  occupied  her  old  place 
among  the  singers,  on  the  Sabbath,  where,  you  know,  I  used  to  sit, 
the  first  time  you  ever  saw  me,  Archy.  It  seems  strange,  indeed, 
that  father,  when  he  was  last  here,  about  two  months  ago,  should 
have  said,  in  a  manner  seemingly  between  jest  and  earnest,  that  we 
might  be  unfortunate  ourselves,  one  of  those  days;  "and  then, 
Peggy,  my  child,"  said  he,  "  remember,  we  shall  have  houseroom 
and  heartroom  for  you  both,  in  our  humble  way."  Now  do,  dear 
Archy,  do  let  us  go  and  live  in  Cricketville,  and  look  for  happiness 
in  a  different  direction  ;  for  I  am  perfectly  sure  it  does  not  lie  in  the 
one  we  have  been  pursuing.' 

"  Mr.  Lane  scarcely  replied  to  this  touching  exhortation  of  his 
v/ife,  but  continued  to  sit  in  silence,  as  though  he  were  unconscious 
of  her  presence.  His  friends,  as  I  have  stated,  had  been  tried,  iu 
this  period  of  affliction,  and  were  found  wanting.  Even  Mrs.  Free- 
tattle,  influenced  partly  by  a  feeling  of  mortification  on  her  own 
account,  and  partly,  perhaps,  by  a  consciousness  of  having,  however 
innocently,  contributed  to  lead  her  young  friends  into  that  career  of 

VOL.  ii.  28* 


330  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTERTOWN. 

extravagance  and  folly,  which  had  just  terminated  so  unhappily,  — 
even  she  suffered  several  days  to  pass,  before  she  presented  herself 
at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Lane.  '  Ah,  my  dear,'  said  she,  as  she 
entered  the  parlor,  '  what  an  awful  thing  it  is !  Who  could  have 
expected  it?  Who  is  that  vulgar-looking  man,  walking  about  the 
house  with  his  hat  on,  my  dear  T  —  '  That,'  said  Mrs.  Lane,  '  is  the 
sheriff's  officer,  or  keeper,  who  is  left  here  to  see  that  no  part  of  the 
furniture  is  taken  away.'  —  'Oh  heavens!  how  shocking!'  cried 
Mrs.  Freetattle.  '  I,  just  now,  met  your  woman,  Mary  McGuiie, 
going,  as  I  supposed,  to  the  intelligence  office,  in  search  of  a  new 
place.'  —  '  1  suspect  not,'  said  Mrs.  Lane.  '  Two  of  our  domestics 
have  asked  for  their  wages,  and,  finding  Mr.  Lane  could  not  pay 
them,  have  quitted.  I  know  not  for  what  object  Mary  has  gone 
out,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  not  for  the  one  you  suggest.  I  told  her, 
yesterday,  we  should  be  obliged  to  break  up,  and  resign  everything 
we  possessed  ;  and  that  she  had  better  be  looking  after  another  situ 
ation.  "  It  's  not  myself  that'll  be  laaving  ye,  poor  leddy,"  said 
she,  "  in  the  dee  o'  your  throuble,  sin  I  've  aten  your  brid  i'  the 
dee  o'  your  prosperity."  I  told  her  we  had  no  money  to  pay  wages 
to  anybody.  "  I  '11  not  be  laaving  ye,  leddy,"  said  she.  She  may 
have  altered  her  mind,  however.'  — '  I  have  no  doubt  she  has,  my 
dear,'  said  Mrs.  Freetattle  ;  '  for  I  am  certain  I  saw  her  going  in 
the  direction  of  Mrs.  Botherem's  intelligence  office.' 

"  It  was  not  long  before  Mary  herself  came  into  the  parlor  upon 
some  errand,  and  Mrs.  Freetattle  asked  her  if  she  had  not  been  to 
the  intelligence  office  ;  Mary  replied,  though  with  evident  embar 
rassment,  that  she  had  not,.  '  There  !'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Freetattle  ; 
*  did  n't  you  see  how  she  colored  ?  She  's  deceiving  you,  my  dear, 
you  may  rely  upon  it ;  and  I  should  n't  be  surprised,  if  she  left  you 
to-morrow  morning.'  She  had  scarcely  uttered  these  prophetic 
words,  when  Mary  reappeared  at  the  door,  and,  saying  to  Mrs. 
Lane,  'An  ye  plase,  my  leddy,  I  '11  be  shpaking  t'  ye,'  immediately 
retired.  —  '  I  told  ye  so,'  said  Mrs.  Freetattle  ;  '  it 's  always  just  so 
with  the  Irish  ;  they  think  it  perfectly  right  to  deceive  a  heretic ; 
she  'fi  going  to  give  you  warning,  my  dear.'  — '  She  has  always 
been  faithful ;  I  cannot  believe  it,'  said  Mrs.  Lane,  as  she  rose  to 
go,  begging  Mrs.  Freetattle  to  excuse  her  for  a  few  moments  only. 

"  It  was  so  long  before  Mrs.  Lane  returned,  that  her  friend  was 
almost  tempted  to  depart,  and  was  drawing  on  her  glove,  when 
Mrs.  Lane  reentered  the  apartment,  applying  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes,  and  having  evidently  been  in  tears.  '  I  have  had  quite  a 
dispute  with  that  girl,'  said  she.  —  '  I  knew  it  would  be  so  !'  cried 
Mrs.  Freetattle ;  '  about  her  wages,  I  suppose.'  — '  Yes,  it  was  about 
her  wages,'  replied  Mrs.  Lane.  — 'An  ungrateful  hussy  !'  said  Mrs. 


TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTEKTOWN.  33 1 

Freetattle  ;  '  but  I  told  you  so,  my  dear ;  just  what  I  expected ; 
and  so  she  told  a  falsehood  about  not  going-  to  Mrs.  Botherem's?' — 
*  No,  no  ;  you  mistake  the  matter  entirety,  Mrs.  Freetattle,'  said 
Mrs.  Lane.  '  She  has  not  been  to  the  intelligence  office,  but  to  the 
savings  bank,  and  drawn  out  all  her  wages.  And  said  she  to  me, 
"  Ye  know  I  've  naather  kith  nor  kin  to  care  for,  my  leddy ;  my 
forbears  are  anunder  boord.  I  s'posed  my  little  bit  airnings  wud  a 
bin  o'  sarvice  to  poor  Phelim  O'Shane ;  but  poor,  daar  lad,  the 
faver  took  him  out  o'  this  blaak,  cauld  warld,  and  it 's  not  myself 
that  'II  iver  be  thinking  o'  ony  other  than  Phelim.  And  now,  poor, 
daar  leddy,  take  the  siller  yoursel ;  for  y'  ave  naad  o'  it,  and  I  have 
none."  I  should  have  returned  to  you  before,  but  I  have  been  dis 
puting  with  poor  Mary  McGuire,  as  you  said,  about  her  wages,  but 
not  in  the  manner  you  supposed.'  — '  Well,'  said  Mrs.  Freetattle, 
'  that  exceeds  anything  I  ever  heard  of.  I  must  tell  that  to  the 
Miss  Pickflaws,  if  it 's  only  to  see  how  they  will  explain  it.  I  've 
no  doubt  that  they  will  account  for  her  conduct  in  some  very  satis 
factory  manner,  and  show  plainly  enough  the  selfish  motive  at  the 
bottom.' 

"  I  have  never  entertained  the  slightest  doubt,  that  Mr.  Lane, 
had  he  not,  at  that  period,  been  addicted  to  a  paralyzing  habit,  would 
have  applied  the  energies  of  his  body  and  mind,  and  successfully 
withal,  to  the  restoration  of  his  affairs.  The  withdrawal  of  all  con 
fidence,  on  the  part  of  those,  who  might  have  assisted  him,  in  his 
efforts,  for  the  attainment  of  that  object,  was  occasioned  by  the  con 
viction,  that  he  was  already  a  man  of  intemperate,  and  not  merely 
of  extravagant  habits,  and  therefore  utterly  untrustworthy.  As  it 
was,  however,  he  was  accounted,  like  Ephraim,  a  man  given  unto 
idols,  and  it  seemed  to  be  the  common  consent  of  the  respectable 
members  of  the  community  to  let  him  alone.  Whenever  an  indi 
vidual,  under  this  wretched  infatuation,  into  whose  soul  the  iron 
power  of  intemperance  has  entered,  falls  into  similar  misfortune,  his 
efforts  to  rise  are  frequently  rendered  ineffectual,  by  that  feeling  of 
distrust,  which  follows  him  like  his  very  shadow,  until  he  turns  back 
from  his  miserable  career,  and  furnishes  unequivocal  evidence  of 
thorough  amendment. 

"  I  perceive,  however,  that  it  is  getting  late,  and  it  is  proper,  that 
this  simple  narrative  of  facts  should  be  brought  to  a  close,  I  will 
no  longer  pursue  it  in  detail.  Mr.  Lane's  effects  were  sold  on  execu 
tion,  and,  among  them,  that  fatal  pitcher,  which,  as  is  usual  in  si'ch 
cases,  was  knocked  off  at  its  mere  value  by  weight.  His  wife, 
who  was  most  truly  attached  to  her  husband,  after  one  brief  year 
of  great  privation,  aggravated  by  the  sad  conviction, 'that  his  habits 
of  intemperance  were  thoroughly  confirmed,  returned  to  her  father ; 


382  TEMPERANCE  MEETING  IN  TATTEKTOWN. 

and,  not  loa^  after,  fell  into  a  decline.  She  did  not  live  to  witness 
the  consummation  of  his  miserable  career.  Cheaper  and  more  fiery 
inebriants  ere  long  took  the  place  of  unattainable  and  more  costly 
wines.  Of  course,  he  disregarded  his  pledge  of  abstinence  from 
ardent  spirits,  after  he  had  added  his  own  to  the  example  of  thou 
sands,  to  demonstrate  its  utter  insignificancy,  as  a  preventive  of 
drunkenness.  He  was  reduced  to  the  very  lowest  stage  of  drunken 
degradation,  when  I  saw  him  last,  which  is  several  years  ago. 
Thus  you  perceive  the  influence  of  remote  causes,  whether  oper 
ating  in  the  form  of  a  splendid  silver  pitcher,  or,  as  our  friend,  the 
squira,  has  told  you,  a  runlet  not  more  than  three  inches  long.  I 
know  not  if  Lane  be  living  or  dead."  —  "  Dead  as.a  door  nail," 
exclaimed  a  deep,  hollow  voice  ;  and  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  a 
tall  personage,  with  a  pale  countenance,  and  sunken  eyeballs  — 
11  dead  as  a  hammer.  He  wandered  about  the  country,  and  once, 
when  he  was  dreadful  blue,  he  undertook,  for  a  wager,  ,to  jump  off 
the  top  of  a  mill,  into  the  pond,  and  fell  on  a  sharp  stake,  and  that's 
the  way  he  died.  I  was  then  as  bad  as  he,  every  bit  and  grain,  but 
I  'm  thankful  I  've  reformed.  I  take  no  intoxicating  drink  now.  I 
read  an  account  of  a  drunkard,  who  said,  as  he  was  going  home, 
*  If  my  wife  's  gone  to  bed  and  has  n't  got  some  supper  ready,  I  '11 
lick  her  ;  and  if  she  's  setting  up  a  burning  out  my  wood  and  candles, 
I  '11  lick  her,'  —  well,  I  'm  that  very  man.  I  remember  just  when 
't  was  I  said  them  very  words.  I  know,  as  much,  I  guess,  about 
this  temperance  concern,  as  anybody.  Everything 's  been  done 
wrong,  till  the  reformed  drunkards  took  up  the  thing  their  own 
way.  Nothing 's  been  done  by  anybody  but  us.  Moral  suasion  's 
the  thing.  The  law  's  o'  no  sort  o'  use.  Ye  can't  drive  folks. 
We  want  nothing  but  moral  suasion."  —  "  That 's  it,"  cried  Mr. 
Greedy,  the  grocer.  —  "I  hav'  n't  heerd  so  much  good,  ginivine, 
common  sense,  this  whole  evening,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Killem,  "as 
that  are  gentleman  's  jest  expressed  ;  and  I  beg  leave,  now  I  'm  up, 
to  give  some  folks  a  piece  o'  my  mind.  Sir,  I  —  I  am  for  liberty. 

Our  fathers  fought,  bled,  and "    "  My  friends,"  said  the  Rev. 

Mr.  Moose,  "  if  Mr.  Killem  will  give  way,  for  a  moment,  it  is  now 
manifestly  too  late  to  discuss  this  interesting  question,  the  expe 
diency  of  employing  moral  suasion,  without  any  resort  to  the  law, 
as  the  only  means  of  advancing  the  temperance  reform.  I  propose, 
if  it  be  agreeable  to  all  parties,  that  we  now  adjourn,  to  meet  in  this 
place  one  week  from  this  date,  at  six  o'clock,  P.  M.,  it  being  under 
stood,  that  Mr.  Killem  has  the  floor." 

This  proposition  was  received  with  universal  approbation  ;  and,  in 
a  few  moments,  the  congregation  began  to  separate,  Squire  Periwig 
remaining  to  assist  the  sexton  in  Wowing  out  the  candles. 


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DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

MAR  1  ?  1989  ~ 


1  3  1993 


369733 

Sargent,   L.  H. 

The  temperance  tales 


PS2779 
S15 
T4 
1873 


